


Meet The Parents

by pepijr



Category: GOT7
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Child!Hyunjin, Coach Jaebum, Established Relationship, M/M, Professor Jinyoung, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-28
Updated: 2018-08-19
Packaged: 2019-04-28 23:40:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 26,321
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14460348
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pepijr/pseuds/pepijr
Summary: Jinyoung loves Jaebum, and Jaebum loves him back, but a single note makes him question everything.( A continuation ofJaebum's Color Theory)





	1. the beginning

**Author's Note:**

> hey everyone, here's a short little fic!
> 
> as the summary says, this is a continuation of jaebum's color theory, aka jock jaebum and nerdy jinyoung. this might not be as funny as the original one-shot, but it's inspired by one of the comments i got! i have like a million ideas written in my head about this au, but this one was really begging to be written. 
> 
> as always, thanks for reading! 
> 
> cheers,

“Do I have to call you Uncle Jinyoung?” 

Hyunjin looks up and Jinyoung realizes he’s never seen eyes so wide on such a small body. Hyunjin doesn’t even reach his hips but he’s managed, somehow, to make Jinyoung afraid -- afraid of doing the wrong thing, of saying the wrong words, afraid of annoying Hyunjin with just his presence. He regrets, suddenly, having agreed to watch him for the night. 

“Well, if you want to call me Uncle you can.” 

Hyunjin shifts from one foot to the other and Jinyoung’s back tenses.

“Mom said you’re dating Uncle Jaebum,” he says, face still deadpan, eyes still silent. Jinyoung can see himself in them, can see himself fidget and hesitate, all rigid, all nervous. He smiles, an awkward shape, uncomfortable on his lips, but his only defense. 

“Yes, I am. So I guess I am kind of your uncle, huh?” 

“Unless you break up.” 

Jinyoung laughs gently, sure Hyunjin is joking, but Hyunjin doesn’t look amused. He seems aware of the possibility, and, for a second, Jinyoung thinks that Hyunjin must be wishing for them to break up, already awaiting their downfall. 

Then Hyunjin asks, “Do you kiss him?” 

He hesitates for a second, wonders if he should lie. But he settles on, “Sometimes. It’s what couples do, I’m sure your mother and father do the same thing.” 

“Aren’t you afraid you’ll get asthma? Mom said Uncle Jaebum has asthma.” 

“That isn’t contagious, Hyunjin.”

The silence that pours into the room is thick -- he can almost feel it slide in his nose and stick to his throat like spider web. When he tries to speak, his words rise and twist and tangle with the web, so much that he almost chokes. But he swallows the knot of words, bends down to face Hyunjin eye to eye.

Maybe this way, he thinks, he’ll seem less intimidating but Hyunjin follows with his eyes and never flinches. He holds a teddy bear that’s almost as big as him, wears a small clear backpack with a neat stack of coloring books and two boxes of colored pencils.

Jinyoung wonders what kind of child needs two boxes, but when he reaches forward to take the duffel bag of clothes from Hyunjin and their fingers touch, Hyunjin is quick to wipe his hand on his overalls, as if Jinyoung might be contagious. That lets him know that Hyunjin is  _ that  _ child -- Hyunjin needs two boxes. 

He imagines that Hyunjin, instead of sharpening his pencils, simply grabs another. When the red one becomes dull, he must use the one in the second box. There has to be a third box at home, maybe even a fourth. Maybe Hyunjin has never had to sharpen a colored pencil in his life. 

Somehow, that terrifies him. Jinyoung manages to stand, but his knees feel shaky, suddenly. His words croak from his throat. 

“I guess I’ll show you to your room,” he says, trying to be chipper, trying not to cry from stress because he’s sure Jaebum’s sister hates him and now her son hates him and he’ll never be accepted into Jaebum’s family and that reality pains him more than he’d like to admit. 

Then, like a blessing, Jaebum’s voice falls down the stairs before he, too, stumbles down, almost crashes, almost hits the floor but he  lands on his hands at the last second. He rolls, instead, and stands just as quickly. 

“We’re going to be late, we’re going to be late!”

Jaebum keeps yelling when he opens the coat closet and pulls out a jacket, pulls out boots. He tugs them on sloppily, crashes around the floor as he yells, “We’re going to be late picking Hyunjin up!” 

He keeps rumbling around, looking for things behind doors, under tables, looking everywhere but where Hyunjin stands. When Jinyoung looks at him, he notices Hyunjin’s smile. 

“Uncle Jaebum, I’m right here.” His voice is still small, but he sounds happier. 

Jaebum keeps looking, muttering loudly.

“We’re going to be late, we’re going to be late! Jinyoung, get the car!”

“Uncle Jaebum!” Hyunjin is yelling now, a bright, warm sound. Jinyoung is suddenly envious of them both -- it feels like he’s intruding on their scene, like he’s witnessing something private, something that shouldn’t involve him. 

“Hyunjin!” Jaebum finally looks at him, though he still looks desperate, out of breath. He goes up to Hyunjin and picks him up by his underarms, gently drapes him over his shoulder. Then he yells, “Hyunjin! We’re going to be late! We have to pick you up, let’s go!” 

Laughter erupts from Hyunjin’s lips, spills out onto the floor. Then they both laugh together and Jaebum lets Hyunjin drop just to catch him a breath away from hitting the ground. Hyunjin starts to squeal, drops the backpack, the teddy bear, and waves his arms yelling, “Again, again, again!” 

Jinyoung bends down to pick up the scattered belongings, ignores the way his heart pounds, the way he eyes Jaebum’s arms, the looks around the room for a vase, the way he worries that Hyunjin might get hurt or something might get broken. Fun doesn’t seem to reach him the way it does to them. For him, fun is only a thing to see and ponder, like watching a movie, a lovely movie he wishes he were invited to.

\--

They prepare for an entire week the first time Jaebum meets Jinyoung’s parents. Jinyoung lectures him on what to do, like shake hands and compliment the food, and what not to do, like pick at his nose or wear mismatched socks, while Jaebum jots down rules on a notebook. After an hour of etiquette lessons and tips on volume control, Jinyoung finally ends it with a sigh, deep and well-deserved. Jaebum closes the notebook and Jinyoung notices the cats printed on its cover. 

“Why do you have a notebook with cats on it?” 

Jaebum looks down with wide eyes, as if shocked to see it there, too, as if surprised that it could even be a thing at all. Then he sulks, disappointed. 

“Some kid took the last One Piece notebook.” 

Jinyoung heaves another sigh. “Another rule: don’t mention anime to my parents.” 

“Babe, but what if they like it?” 

“They don’t.” 

“But what if they  _ do _ ?” 

“They’re both librarians -- they barely watch any TV.” 

“But babe…” He trails off when Jinyoung glares at him. Then Jaebum sits up and clears his throat. “What should I call your dad?” 

“Just call him Mr. Park.” 

“No can do, babe. If I call your dad Mr. Park I’m going to get hard -- not a good look.” 

“Why in the world would you get hard?” 

“Well.” Jaebum raises his eyebrows, signals to Jinyoung. He keeps wiggling them, and the more he does, the more confused Jinyoung is until he raises his arms, frustrated.

“Well, what?!” 

“Remember that time in your office? You kept your sweater on and just took off your pants? I kept asking for extra credit? ‘Mr. Park, I need to pass this class, I’ll do  _ anything _ ’?” 

Jinyoung’s cheeks warm and he shakes his head, looks away. 

“New rule: don’t talk about anything sexual outside of the bedroom.” 

“No dirty talk, got it.” Jaebum pauses to pull at the sleeves of his shirt. He almost looks shy, though when he looks up, Jinyoung recognizes the mischief in his eyes. The small glimmers that swim around in there. 

“I’ve got something to show you,” he says, stands abruptly. He leaves the kitchen, disappears into the hallway, and Jinyoung hears him rummaging around in their room. 

Then, a few minutes later, he emerges. He’s parted his hair so that most of his forehead is on display, and his bangs have a gentle wave to them. He wears one of Jinyoung’s sweaters, but on Jaebum it looks small, too small. It’s tight around his chest, under his armpits and around his biceps, the top of his arms. It only loosens around his waist, always thin. Though the most striking point are the glasses: round with gold rims, already sliding down the bridge of his nose. If Jinyoung ignores the two earrings on his right ear and the one that dangles from his left, Jaebum almost looks like a scholar. Young, but wise beyond his years. 

As always, something whirs inside of Jinyoung, light and airy, like tiny embers swirling around in his stomach, touching the bottom of his heart and warming it. Something both innocent and dark. 

Jaebum steps forward, his face split by a wide grin, handsome even when he lifts his eyebrows a few times. 

“What do you think, babe? I look like  _ you _ . I thought: what would Jinyoung’s parents like more than Jinyoung? Nothing! So they’re going to see me and be, like, ‘hey, you remind us of someone we love!’ It’s you, babe, it’s you they love.”

“Jaebum…” Jinyoung is smiling, too, though he shakes his head. “You don’t have to do all that. Just be quiet and courteous and don’t make too much noise.”

“Watch this,” he says, hardening his expression. He looks serious, almost bored, and he looks off into the corner of the room. Then his neck turns, his eyes find Jinyoung. 

“Yes,” Jaebum begins in a deep, paced voice, “I do appreciate the symmetry involved in crafting an image. Each component of a film should be in conversation. That signifies a language should be present, one that parallels and equates.” 

Jinyoung’s eyes widen when he recognizes Jaebum’s words. “Is that my last article?!” 

Jaebum’s voice finally trails off, like steps losing their way, like feet getting lost. “Yes, babe. I memorized the whole thing. I thought it would be good conversation topics when we meet your parents, and good dirty talk.” 

“Dirty talk?” 

“Yeah,” Jaebum steps closer, rests a hand on Jinyoung’s shoulder, “You like smart things. I thought I could be smart in bed. I can eat your asymptote or suck your continuity cut or something.” 

Jinyoung snorts, “Don’t ever say that again.”

Jaebum grins, obviously proud, and Jinyoung has no other option but to reach forward and run his fingers through his hair, pulling his bangs back down over his forehead. Jaebum’s eyes close and Jinyoung rests his palms against his cheek, traces the slope of his nose with the tip of his thumb. 

“Why aren’t we meeting my mom, too?” 

“If my parents don’t like you, I don’t think we can date anymore.” 

Jaebum’s eyes open and he frowns for a moment. He looks so young, Jinyoung thinks, and acts that way, too. He always has a hard time believing he’ll be thirty-one in a few months, and he wonders how he’ll look at forty-one, and fifty-one, and sixty-one, and when Jaebum’s lips stretch into that wide, clumsy grin that makes Jinyoung’s heartbeat race, he only hopes he’ll get to see him get older. That he’ll be there, growing old with him, hand in hand, still laughing when their hair turns gray. 

“I guess I better make a good impression,” Jaebum says, then tries to pull off his sweater. Just like the first day Jinyoung had seen him, Jaebum gets his arms stuck, and spins in slow circles trying to get it off. 

Except now Jinyoung is here to help -- he finds Jaebum’s hands and pulls him closer, gently so he doesn’t fall. Together they manage to get it off, with Jinyoung holding the sweater in place while Jaebum pulls out of it. He staggers and nearly falls but raises his arms in a victory pose, just like the first day and Jinyoung realizes that some things don’t change. 

Then Jaebum smiles, as bright as ever, and Jinyoung realizes that he doesn’t want things to ever change.

\--

He carries a paper bag of groceries in one arm, pushes the door open with the other. He steps inside and kicks the door shut and that’s when he sees Jaebum on the ground, sitting, his eyes wide. He looks terrified as he leans against the couch and brings his finger to his mouth, signaling Jinyoung to be quiet. 

He imagines the worst: they’re being robbed, maybe murdered, and if Jaebum is here, it means Hyunjin is in danger. He suddenly wants to step back outside, wants to call the police, wants to do anything but stand there, fighting the tremble in his hands because that might rustle the paper bag and alert the intruders of his presence. 

When he’s sure he’s near tears, he hears Hyunjin yelling -- but it isn’t the sound of pain, or fear, but excitement. Hyunjin emerges from the hallway, still screaming, one of Jaebum’s toy guns raised and aimed. Then two foam balls burst from the gun and strike Jaebum. His body slumps, his eyes closed, and he looks convincingly dead. 

“I got you!” Hyunjin screams, then notices Jinyoung at the door. 

He no longer trembles, no, but he can feel a different kind of fear crawl up his spine. Hyunjin stares for another second, then lifts his gun. The remnants of a smile linger over Hyunjin’s lips, but Jinyoung only notices the dead look in his eyes when he shoots Jinyoung in the forehead. 

The shot doesn’t hurt -- the foam ball bounces off his head, against the wall, then rolls down the wood flooring towards Hyunjin. They never stop looking at each other, and though Jinyoung is sure Hyunjin is doing it out of sheer hatred, he still wonders if he should play dead, too. Maybe he should let the groceries fall on the ground, maybe that’s silly enough for Hyunjin to laugh the way he does around Jaebum. Maybe Hyunjin might even like him if he cracks a few eggs, breaks a few jars. 

But all Jinyoung manages to do is say, out of impulse, “Ouch.” 

Then come a few more moments of staring. Neither of them move, and it feels like neither of them breathe. Jaebum awakens from his fake death and crawls behind Hyunjin, as quiet as ever. His hands wrap around his middle and Hyunjin screams again. The toy gun falls and rattles on the floor and Hyunjin’s laughter clatters next to it, small, bright sounds that bounce around like foam balls and Jinyoung’s stomach twists with envy. 

If only he were fun. 

“I’m going to make some lunch,” he says, but realizes his words fall on deaf ears. Hyunjin is already sprinting down the hall with Jaebum chasing behind him. So Jinyoung nods to no one in particular and walks into the empty kitchen, gets to work. He puts away groceries to the sound of Jaebum and Hyunjin laughing, makes sandwiches to the sound of their footsteps jumping up the stairs. 

He waits until it’s quiet to call them in to eat their lunch, and after a few minutes, only Hyunjin arrives. His steps are slow, almost shy, and he climbs up the barstool to eat on the kitchen island. 

“Uncle Jaebum said he’ll be here in a bit,” he says, serious as he stares at Jinyoung with round eyes, “He said he’s washing the paint off his face. He said you get mad if he’s messy when he’s eating.” 

And though it’s true, Jinyoung has always made Jaebum wash up before meals, has always made sure he’s presentable, no matter how small or uneventful their dinner, he can’t shake off the feeling of how boring that might sound to a child. Maybe children thrive on messes, he thinks. Maybe he should try to be messier. He pushes the sandwich on a plate towards Hyunjin as he eyes a bottle of ketchup on the counter. Maybe a few drops smeared on his clothes could make him a little more fun. 

Hyunjin pulls him out of his thoughts when he says, “Can I have one with crust?” 

Jinyoung glances at the sandwich, then at Hyunjin. He pulls the plate away and starts making another.

“Sorry,” he says, “Jaebum always asks me to cut off the crust.” 

As if summoned, Jaebum walks into the kitchen -- his face is still wet and drops of water cling to his chin. The ends of his hair look wet, too, which makes Jinyoung’s face wrinkle with worry. But when he looks at Hyunjin, his face is beaming and happy. 

“Did you cut off the crust, babe?” Jaebum asks.

“Like always,” Jinyoung says, but it sounds closer to a mutter. He watches Jaebum pet Hyunjin’s head, watches him rustle his hair, and he watches Hyunjin smile wide and reckless. He feels Hyunjin’s age again, suddenly. No older than five, already smart and proper but friendless because he cares too much about cleanliness and rules and safety and all the boys in his neighborhood want to do is jump in the mud and fight with sticks. 

As he got older, things changed, he found friends, and life went on, but the feeling remained. That heaviness, that feeling of being different and strange, of being all alone in the world. He watches Jaebum and Hyunjin eat their sandwiches in near identical fashion -- eating around the sides, working their way into the middle -- and he watches them push their plate forward at the same time. They stand together, too, and leave the kitchen with giggles bubbling in their throats. 

The echoes of their laughter seem to bounce around in Jinyoung’s head as he washes the plates and cleans the kitchen, and when those fade out, only silence remains. 

\--

Jaebum takes out all of his piercings before dinner with Jinyoung’s parents, and even though he argues for something less formal, Jinyoung makes him wear slacks and a button up and a nice jacket to match. He makes him brush all his hair back and out of his face so that, if anything, his parents will be dazzled by Jaebum’s looks and ignore his other attributes. 

And when they finally knock on their door, Jaebum is standing proper. He greets them with a smile, a polite bow of his head, perfectly picked words and a pruned personality. Every time Jinyoung looks over at him, he can’t recognize him: he covers his mouth when he laughs, nods when he listens, gives his mother a compliment, his father some praise. When they migrate to the living room, Jinyoung is sure Jaebum has won them over. 

“Dinner is all ready, let me finish setting the table,” his mother says and Jinyoung smiles when she steps out of the living room, leaves him alone with his father and Jaebum. 

His father, as always, sits on an oversized chair while Jinyoung and Jaebum sit on the loveseat. Their bodies are close enough that Jinyoung feels how tense Jaebum is: his back is straight, his legs bent at a neat angle, his arms pressed neatly against his sides. His neck is straight, too, and every time Jinyoung glances at it, he notices how long it really is, and how sturdy it looks. Even that part of him has muscle. 

Just as they’d practiced, Jaebum has spoken no more than necessary -- he gives a basic answer, and Jinyoung is left to expand on it, to explain, to fill in the gaps. 

When his father asks if Jaebum works at the university, too, he’d said, “Yes, sir.” 

Jinyoung was the one to explain that he was a coach -- though he’d said physical instructor -- and that he was thinking of going back to school to possibly start teaching more, too. 

“What were you thinking of teaching?” his father asks. Jaebum smiles, and even that feels practiced. 

“I’m not sure yet,” he says, “I’m still exploring options.” He pauses, gives another smile, turns his neck to face Jinyoung. 

“He’s thinking about teaching something that he’s already familiar with,” Jinyoung says, picking up where Jaebum leaves off, “Like nutrition or health. Something applicable and accessible.” 

His father nods, smiling, clearly satisfied with the answer, and Jinyoung becomes awash with relief. Things are going well, Jaebum seems to be a hit, or, rather, this version of Jaebum. This more polite Jaebum, quieter, more thoughtful in his words, less lively and impulsive, but presentable. He turns to give Jaebum a smile, and Jaebum returns it proudly.

Then his mother calls them to dinner and his father stands. 

“Let’s go eat,” he says, disappears into the dining room. Jinyoung stands next, stretches, and starts to walk until he notices Jaebum hasn’t moved. When he turns, Jaebum is stiff, leaning back. In his lap is his parents’ pet: an old, gray cat with a grumpy face. He’s chosen Jaebum’s lap to stretch and lay in, and Jaebum looks as horrified as Jinyoung’s ever seen him, more so than when he’d accidentally watched  _ The Ring  _ with Jinyoung thinking it was a movie about marriage.

“Babe,” he hisses, signaling to the cat with his head, “ _ Babe. _ ”

“What?” 

“The cat.” 

Jinyoung’s mother calls his name from the dining room and he gets antsy, impatient. 

“Just push him off, let’s go.” 

Jaebum’s eyes are still wide, and for a second, Jinyoung thinks he might be near tears. But his mother calls his name again so he disappears into the dining room. Behind him, he hears the cat hiss, then a quiet thud. By the time he sits in his chair, Jaebum is stepping into the dining room, looking more stiff than ever. 

They sit across from his parents, and for the start of the dinner, they eat in silence. There’s only the clink of silverware, the quiet tinkle of glass against glass. Jinyoung’s mother is the first to speak. 

“That’s such a nice sweater you have on, Jinyoung.” 

“Thanks, mom. It was a gift from Jaebum.” 

His mother lowers her glasses, smiling. 

“Well isn’t that sweet,” she says and Jinyoung grins. 

Then, to his dismay, her attention shifts to Jaebum.

“Now, Jaebum, sweetie, what does your mother do?” 

Seconds pass and Jaebum doesn’t respond, doesn’t do a thing, so everyone else stops eating. The clink of silverware ends, and the quiet becomes thick in the air, like smoke passing over them. When Jinyoung turns to Jaebum, his face is red, from his cheeks to his neck. He scratches at his hands, too, then at his neck, then his shoulders. His eyes are wide, too wide, as they look around the room.

“She teaches,” he says, finally, but it looks like Jaebum struggles to pry open his lips, and his voice comes out like a hoarse whisper. Then, slowly, while his hands tremble, he pushes his chair out so he can stand. 

“Excuse me,” he says, again with a raspy voice. The napkin that had been in his lap falls, but he doesn’t seem to notice. He doesn’t seem to notice anything at all, staring at nothing in particular, his eyes glazed and empty. His neck is still red when he turns around and steps into the direction of the living room. 

By the second step, he’s on the ground, gasping for air. Jinyoung is at his side a second later, turning him over to his back, trying to find out what’s wrong. Behind him, sounding like they’re miles away instead of just a few steps, he hears his mother gasp and his father stand up. 

And in between desperate gulps for air, Jaebum, with teary eyes, whispers, “Sorry, babe.” 

\--

By evening, Jinyoung stops trying to win Hyunjin’s approval. Instead he retreats into his study and pulls out a stack of essays to grade. Armed with a marker and some tea, he grades non-stop until the sky in his window burns from a light blue to a dark violet. A single lamp glows at his desk, paints the rest of the room in a dull orange. 

After his third cup of tea, he hears a small knock at his door. When he looks up, Hyunjin is there, dressed in Paw Patrol pajamas with his backpack in his hands. 

He looks small at the doorway, a low gold against purple shadows. When he speaks, his voice is just as small, like a paper boat sailing across the quiet room. 

“Can I color in here?” 

“Of course, let me get you a chair.”

Hyunjin doesn’t seem to hear him, he just walks up and throws his backpack on the desk and climbs into Jinyoung’s lap. He unzips his bag and pulls out sheets of paper and a box of colored pencils. Jinyoung watches it all happen, tries not to move, tries not to breathe, as though the slightest hint of hesitation might fracture the moment. 

“I thought Jaebum put you to sleep,” he says and Hyunjin’s hair trembles when he shakes his head. Jinyoung gives into his urge and runs his fingers through it, wonders how it can be so soft, so gentle. 

“Uncle Jaebum was reading me a bedtime story but he fell asleep in the middle of it.” 

“Yeah,” Jinyoung sighs, “When he’s tired he falls asleep so quick. One time, he fell asleep in the middle of…” He trails off, realizing what he’s saying, and Hyunjin twists his neck to look at Jinyoung. 

“In the middle of what?” 

“In the middle of a movie,” he says, relieved when Hyunjin nods and goes back to the pile of papers. On top is a drawing, messy as it is endearing. Three stick figures -- two big, one small -- stand over a patch of grass. They all have the same messy haircut, nothing more than a few scrawled black lines, and they all have the same smile stretching across the circles of their head. Around them are pink scribbles in the shapes of hearts and stars. 

The more he looks, the lighter Jinyoung’s heart feels -- all this time, he’d thought Hyunjin hated him, and here Hyunjin was, drawing family portraits of him, Jinyoung, and Jaebum together. 

“Did you draw this?” he asks, presses a finger on the corner of the page. To his surprise, Hyunjin shakes his head. 

“Uncle Jaebum drew it.” He pulls off the paper, reveals another drawing. In this one, the people have some form and wear blocky clothes. Their hairstyles are different, too, and they have large, round fingers instead of just a small circle with five lines drawn on it. The grass has flowers of all colors, but the detail that catches his attention is the hole in one of the bigger stick figures. Right above the stomach there’s a small dent, as if someone had taken a neat bite off it. The other figure, rather than missing anything, has a small bump that Jinyoung is sure is meant to fit inside the hole.

Scared, he points at it and asks, “What’s this?” 

“That’s you,” Hyunjin says, “That’s your shape.”

“What’s it for?” 

“So Uncle Jaebum can put his shape in you.” 

Jinyoung’s breath catches in his throat and he almost chokes -- though he manages to gulp it down. 

“What do you mean?” 

“Because of what Uncle Jaebum said.” Jinyoung, of course, fears the worst. Jaebum had probably thought something out loud, something inappropriate, something that would surely be blamed on Jinyoung -- Jaebum’s family might ban him altogether. 

“What did he say?” he asks.

Hyunjin pulls out a blank sheet from under the pile, then another. 

“He said when he met you that he felt like he was a puzzle piece. That you were his other piece. That he finally found what he’d been missing. His other half.” 

Jinyoung’s cheeks warm some more, but for other reasons. This heat is sweet and tender and hopelessly romantic. 

“He said that?” 

Hyunjin nods, then pulls out a red colored pencil and starts to draw. A beat later, he stops, then twists his neck to look back at Jinyoung. 

“Do you want to color with me?” 

By then, Jinyoung is smiling, and when he nods, he does so lightly. He thinks of Jaebum, probably snoring from the guest room with a picture book cracked open on his chest. Yet, somehow, he’s managed to make things better. He seems to bless Jinyoung this way: whenever he thinks he might fail or break, Jaebum’s words find him, remind him of his own intensity, of his own strength. Never directly, no, but indirectly, like a trail of candy he leaves behind to sweeten Jinyoung’s life. And when he looks back at Hyunjin, he’s sure that if someone like Jaebum loves him as much as he does, then he must not be so boring. 

He might even be a little fun. 

Hyunjin quickly pulls out the other box of colored pencils and hands them to him. Jinyoung pulls out a blue pencil, and reaches around Hyunjin to color on the other blank page. 

Feeling brave, he asks, “Why do you have two boxes of colored pencils?”

“So if anyone wants to color with me, they can. Mom said it makes it easy to make friends.” 

Jinyoung slows his drawing. On the paper is a rough portrait of a person, their profile: a bumped nose, a weak chin, high cheekbones and sharp, charming eyes. He puts two dots beneath the eyebrow, then continues. 

“Do you have a lot of friends?” he asks. Hyunjin stops drawing, as if counting in his head, then goes back to his sketch. The only answer Jinyoung gets is a shrug. 

Something about it, though, tells Jinyoung more than he needs to know. Maybe Hyunjin is more like him than he’d thought, and maybe this awkward tension had been mutual -- maybe they were too similar to get along perfectly.  Maybe Hyunjin and five-year-old Jinyoung might have been friends. 

“Am I your friend, Hyunjin?” he asks, smiling as he colors Jaebum’s hair a deep black. 

“No,” Hyunjin answers with a quiet giggle that breaks Jinyoung’s heart. Then, a breath later, he adds, “You can’t be my friend.” 

“Why not?” 

Hyunjin stops drawing, twists his neck around. His eyes are wide, though they look warm, inviting. The smallest smile tugs on his lips. 

“Because,” he says, “You’re my  _ uncle _ .” 

\--

“Why didn’t you tell me you were allergic to cats?” 

Jaebum takes another breath from his inhaler, bright blue and covered in Pokemon stickers, before he shrugs. 

“You said not to make a fuss, babe.” 

“Well, I didn’t mean it that way.” Every second adds another layer of weight on Jinyoung’s heart -- to think Jaebum gasping for breath on the floor, clawing towards his inhaler, was all to please him, to follow his rules, fills him with an unfamiliar ache. Maybe things shouldn’t always be his way, he thinks, not when it makes Jaebum suffer like this. 

“We can still make a good impression,” Jaebum says, putting down his inhaler, “The fake glasses are in the car.” 

Then he grins and it’s enough for Jinyoung to feel a shade less heavy, to feel lighter as he stands and shakes his head. 

“Just be yourself,” he says, “I’ll go get some water.” 

In the kitchen, he finds his mother stacking dirty plates in the sink. When Jinyoung steps inside, she turns, leans against the counter. 

“Is he alright, sweetheart?” 

“Yeah, he’ll be fine.” He sighs, leans on the counter next to her. “I just wanted you guys to like him. This is all my fault.” 

“Why wouldn’t we like him?” 

“Well…” Jinyoung pauses, and from the living room he can hear Jaebum’s voice -- he sounds loud, a pitch too high, and he knows he’s imitating movie characters again. Then his father’s booming laughter comes a beat later. “He’s different.” 

His mother rubs his arms, and Jinyoung feels like a teenager again. Awkward and lost and unsteady. When he looks up at her, she’s smiling, her head cocked to the side, her glasses propped up on the top of her head. He finally notices the wrinkles in her cheeks and under her eyes and how warm they look, how full of kindness, full of light.

“If you like him, we’ll like him, too,” she tells him, “He had an asthma attack and didn’t want to say anything for you. That says a lot, Jinyoung. He must really love you.” 

“Well, we haven’t decided if it’s  _ love  _ yet,” he answers, but he smiles just the same, “He’s good to me, mom.”

“That’s all that matters.” She pauses and her smile darkens, grows mischievous. “Plus, I saw this coming.” 

“You did? How?” 

“When you were younger, you weren’t so good on computers. You could never figure out how to delete all your history. Jaebum looks like the boys in the porn you used to watch. What were they called? Jock videos?” 

“ _ Mom _ .” Jinyoung’s blushing long before she finishes, and she covers her mouth, laughing quietly. 

“I remember I had to act surprised when you finally came out.” 

Jinyoung grumbles, but that’s when he notices Jaebum at entrance of the kitchen. His eyes are wide, his lips split into a wide grin -- looks as happy as a child, just as carefree. 

“Babe!” His voice sounds loud, like drums banged with fists, but it sounds like music in Jinyoung’s ear. He sounds like himself again. “Babe, is that true?” 

“Is what true?” 

“Did you watch porn?” 

Jinyoung flushes a few shades darker and his mother keeps laughing. 

“Jinyoung told me porn is for people who waste time,” he says, stepping closer to Jinyoung.

Then his father steps inside and asks what’s happening. 

His mother responds, “We’re talking about Jinyoung watching porn. Remember, dear?” 

“How could I forget?” he says, “Remember how many times he would look up ‘muscle’ on those video sites? We were lucky we never got a virus with how much you watched them.” 

“Can you stop?!” Jinyoung screams, but no one seems to notice. His parents exchange stories in between laughs and Jaebum grins wider with each one, chuckles at some. And though he feels hot all over with embarrassment, as if his clothes have been ripped off, as if he’s been doused in fire, he can’t deny the sense of relief that settles watching the people he cares for start to bond. Even if it is at his expense. 

He can’t deny, either, how nice it is to be able to hide his face in Jaebum’s chest, to breathe in the scent of his cologne, to have his arms around him and to feel his chest tremble with every laugh. To peek up and catch sight of his grin, of his handsome eyes looking down at him, so full of love that Jinyoung loses himself in them, hoping never to be found. 

\--

When Hyunjin leaves, Jaebum picks him up in his arms and spins him in circles. For one last time, their small home seems to glow with his laughter, seems to brighten up with his presence. When he sets him down, though, and a second before he leaves with his mother, Hyunjin walks up to Jinyoung. He looks up at him for a second, then reaches forward to wrap his tiny arms around his legs. 

“Bye Uncle Jinyoung,” he says before he scurries out of the door and the house goes back to its silence. Jinyoung, partly stunned, partly nostalgic, lets his body accept these waves of emotion that make him feel weightless, that make him feel loved.

Two hours after Hyunjin leaves, Jinyoung and Jaebum lay on the couch. Jinyoung is sitting up and Jaebum lays his head in his lap, busy watching Zootopia a second time. 

Jinyoung runs his fingers through his hair, plays with the longer locks on the back of his head. 

“When are you going to cut off this mullet?” 

“When it stops being sexy,” Jaebum answers, “When it stops driving you wild.” 

He just snorts in response, keeps combing his fingers through his hair, still damp and soft from his shower. Then he plays with his ears, touches each piercing with the tip of his finger. He looks intent on the movie, so much that when he looks up, suddenly, Jinyoung thinks he’s touched an earring wrong.

“Did that hurt?” he asks but Jaebum shakes his head. 

“I’ve been thinking, babe. We should have a kid.” 

Jinyoung’s lips part, but nothing comes out. His voice hides somewhere in his throat, and it takes seconds of blinking, then a second of frowning, to find it again. 

“What do you mean?”

“We should have a kid. We’d be good parents,” he says again and Jinyoung notices how hopeful he looks. 

“It’s not that easy, Jaebum. We’d have to be married, we’d have to fill out so many forms -- maybe wait for years. And you know I have a five-year-plan I have to follow.” 

He thinks of it now, sitting in a drawer in his study: a simple sheet of paper -- a long list of goals with dates by them. Every five years, he’d print off a new one after a month of extensive planning. Dating Jaebum, moving in with him, had been an annotation he’d scribbled in with pencil at the end of them.

“But, babe. We’d be such  _ good  _ parents.” 

“Maybe, but you have to meet me halfway, Jaebum.” 

For a second, Jaebum looks disappointed. In all their time dating, Jinyoung has never seen him frown so genuinely, so deeply. All of his features twist around the shape of his mouth, all fill with sadness, with heaviness. He looks hurt, betrayed, even confused, all at once. Jinyoung’s heart slows, scared as to what might happen, but then Jaebum goes back to smiling, though the shape is less bright, more tame. 

“Okay,” he says, and Jinyoung thinks it’s fine. They’ve spoken, they’ve decided, everything should be fine. 

And he believes it, really. He knows that things are fine when Jaebum stands up to go take a shower and Jinyoung disappears into his study to grade more papers. For a while, everything is normal: Jaebum remains the sun, brightening up their days, filling the house with laughter, and Jinyoung is his moon, orbiting around him, silent but calm, dependable and sturdy. Two halves of a whole, two puzzle pieces finally finding their fit. 

So when, two months later, as he’s cleaning out some of Jaebum’s papers stacked in his study, he finds a handwritten note on yellow legal pad paper, he still knows things are fine. He recognizes Jaebum’s handwriting, messy and small and done quickly, as if the words were running across the page. 

_ I love you _ , it reads,  _ You’re all I need. You’re all I want. I love you more than I love my mom’s cooking. I love you more than I love winning play of the game in Overwatch. I love you more than I love cheesecake, the one with the red swirls. Raspberry, I think. I love you more than that.  _

The rest of the paper is cut off, but it seems to follow the same pattern: a list of Jaebum’s favorite things with the same preface. Jinyoung thinks it’s sweet, definitely an upgrade from the last time he tried to be romantic by suggesting they interlock their toes. So he pulls out the sheet, and that’s when he notices the name written on top, has to read it two times, three times, and even at the fourth it doesn’t feel real.

By the tenth time, his heart has sunk so low that he feels it pounding in his stomach, like a heavy stone punching his abdomen. 

_ Suji _ , it reads,  _ This is for you.  _


	2. the middle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the delay! lots of things happened. follow me on twt if u care (@jjpsbf)
> 
> also tw: body image! just in case. 
> 
> cheers!

“Why are we breaking into Suji’s office again?” 

“We’re not breaking in,” Jinyoung mutters, letting the door swing open, “You’re just keeping watch to see if she comes. Breaking in sounds criminal -- we’re just snooping.”

He takes a deep breath, flips on the light switch, and looks around. The white walls are covered in small paintings with neat, black frames and every surface has a tiny succulent in a pastel pot. There is a jar of sand on her desk, a fake seashell, and a lighthouse fixture, and though he’s never met an actual model, especially one that retired and got a doctorate degree in literature, he’s sure that this is all fitting. The light blue curtains, the watercolor on the bookshelf, the few hardcovers with gold lettering on the top shelf. Everything looks staged -- like a TV set before filming, and when he thinks of Suzy, of how pretty she is, he thinks that is fitting too.

Maybe this is what Jaebum likes, he thinks. Maybe Jaebum likes the look of academia -- the shape of books, rather than what’s inside. The air of intelligence without the discussions that follow. Maybe Suzy likes watching the same movies as Jaebum, and maybe they both laugh during Zootopia, both cry during Finding Dory. The thought makes Jinyoung’s heart sink, and he almost bolts out the door to escape the possibility of Jaebum cheating on him with Suzy, but when he turns around, Mark is looking at him. His eyes are wide, expectant, already annoyed. 

“Snooping, breaking in, whatever. Why? Why Suji?”

Jinyoung stands up straight, squares his shoulders. He hasn’t told anyone else about the affair, too afraid of looking foolish, or being pitied. But now, two weeks after the note, he figures Mark, and Youngjae who was left at the door of the building downstairs in case Suji came back from her lunch early, will find out eventually. So, with another sigh, he says, “Jaebum is cheating on me.” 

Mark’s face wrinkles in confusion. His head tilts to the right, then to the left. 

“ _ Jaebum _ ?”

“Yes,” he answers, fights off the urge to cry. He hasn’t slept in four days, hasn’t showered in two. He’s on the brink of cancelling today’s class but he still has his pride, he thinks. He still has some strength. With a slow nod, he looks back around the room. “I found a love note between them. It’s all a big secret.” 

“I don’t know what’s more surprising,” Mark says, “The fact that he’s clever enough to keep it hidden from you, or the fact that he’s literate enough to write love notes. Did he ever do that stuff for you?” 

Jinyoung’s heart breaks a little with the question. Suji’s office is clean, which he thinks  _ must  _ mean she’s hiding something, so Jinyoung is forced to open drawers, to look between folders and corners and anywhere someone might hide a love letter. The more he looks, the more he thinks about the note.  _ I love you more than that _ , it read. Did Jaebum love her more than Jinyoung? 

“No, he didn’t. He says it’s hard for him to write. Whenever he tries to write something hard his head always hurts and his body gets exhausted,” he answers, blinks away the tears and pulls open another drawer only to find more office supplies, all cute and unreal and an adorable pastel color. Even her belongings are beautiful, even her paperclips have some design, some aesthetic. Maybe that’s what drew Jaebum to her -- both of them beautiful, both attractive. Pretty people tend to be with pretty people, they seek each other like flowers curling towards the sun. In one drawer he finds a mirror, steals a glance at himself: his cheeks are bloated, his eyes swollen. His nose looks rounder than usual, and if he looks closely enough, his eyes aren’t aligned. There’s also his ears that stick out too far, and his hair, uncombed, sticks up in a few places. He’d cut his bangs too short, too, and they falls in wisps across his foreheads. On his chin and above his lip are two-days worth of stubble he hasn’t shaved. He looks a mess, of course Jaebum would look elsewhere. 

“Well, I don’t want to say I told you so, but I told you so. He doesn’t deserve you. He’s the biggest idiot.” 

“He’s  _ not  _ an idiot, Mark. He’s a good person --  _ I  _ don’t deserve  _ him _ .” Jinyoung looks up and glares before he realizes what he’s doing -- he must be stupid to defend a man who’s cheating on him, but he can’t help it. Even faced with the idea of Jaebum’s lips on someone else, of his heart longing for someone other than him, Jinyoung is still in love with him. Wildly so. Stupidly so. He looks back down at the desk when his eyes water, busies his hands with another drawer before the tears have a chance to fall. 

No matter how much it hurts, no matter how much the thorns sting and draw out blood, his heart still holds Jaebum like a home. Like an old house, battered and worn, now alive with a new energy. Jaebum makes it feel new again: he paints the walls a happy pink, puts up smiling frames in the living room, fills the kitchen with laughter. He cleans the floors, replaces the broken dishes, leaves flowers on every table and opens the windows so that every beat of his heart feels beautiful. So that the sunlight pours in and makes that old, clumsy heart glow. 

But now, as he feels it tremble in his chest with fear, he starts to think that Jaebum might have just been setting up a system of traps. With one wrong move, or one  _ right  _ move, the house could shake and sway and fall -- his heart could break. 

Jinyoung swallows and shakes his head, keeps digging. 

“If you say so.” Mark leans against the door, heaves a sigh. “I don’t think he would, though. You guys are living together, where would he even--” 

Jinyoung gasps and cuts him off. Beneath a few ungraded papers, he spots the same yellow legal pad paper. He lifts up the essays, pulls it out slowly, afraid of what he might see. 

On top is the same heading as the other note:  _ Suji, this is for you _ .

His handwriting is still messy, still childish, but on this note most of his words has been crossed out. Only a few sentences survive:  _ You remind me a lot of my mom, not in a creepy way. You are smart and funny and beautiful like her. You are everything I am not. You are my missing piece.  _

Jinyoung’s heart sinks again until it punches his stomach, heavy and angry. It makes him nauseous, makes him ache all over -- at his arms, his elbows, his joints. His hips feel like they’re breaking and his legs feel weak, too weak. He almost doubles over, almost drops the note but he notices how Mark close is, how worried his face looks. 

It takes a moment for him to realize Mark is speaking, another for his voice to reach him, as if his words travel from a long distance. As if Mark were in another world. 

“She’s coming,” he says, “She’s coming right now.” 

He looks at Mark for a second, tries to make sense of his words, tries to make sense of the whole situation. But he can’t focus on anything other than the note in his hands and the thought of Jaebum writing it. No doubt focused, no doubt smiling. Maybe he had told Hyunjin about Suji, he thinks. Maybe all he’d told him, about missing pieces, about love, had been about Suji. Maybe he’d just said Jinyoung’s name to avoid a fuss. 

The world blurs behind a new set of tears. 

“We have to leave, Jinyoung, let’s go!” Mark starts to snap his fingers but Jinyoung remains still. Only his hands tremble from time to time, so Mark is the one to take the note from his hands. Mark is the one to put it in the drawer, along with the essays and the two pens Jinyoung wanted to steal. Mark is the one to dry his tears with the sleeves of his shirt, and Mark is the one to pull him out of the office and into the hallway. 

Then Mark pushes him and Jinyoung starts to walk, though it feels entirely mechanical. One foot in front of the other, wheels turning, a machine grinding away. He has to remind himself to breathe, and even that comes out shaky and inconsistent. His eyes look dead, and his mind is numb and he thinks of nothing in particular, only the glow of the lights above them, the clean walls, the countless office doors. Every time he looks around, Jinyoung wonders if Jaebum had walked in this hallway before. He wonders if he’s ever been in Suji’s office.

Before he can weep a second time, they reach the elevators. 

“That was close,” Mark says, and Jinyoung just shrugs, stares at the doors. 

And when they open, Suji is there. She wears a simple blue dress, wears a matching ribbon in her hair. In one hand she holds a hat, just as trendy, just as cute. In the other she holds a salad with  _ two  _ forks. She starts to step outside of the elevator, bows her beautiful head quietly at Mark’s direction. But then her eyes, devastatingly charming, find Jinyoung and he swears that they glimmer -- swears that she recognizes him. He wonders if she feels guilty, wonders if she knows that he knows, but by the way she smiles at him, the way she bows her head, tilts it just a little -- a  _ knowing  _ tilt -- he’s sure that she has no regrets. She wedges the thorns deeper into his heart. 

Mark ushers him into the elevator, shakes his head, mutters under his breath when the doors close. Slowly, the doors blur again and a ringing fills Jinyoung’s ears, makes him deaf to the world around him. 

 

An hour later, he sits behind his desk, curved forward, his face hidden in his arms. He’s cancelled today’s class, and he’s cancelled tomorrow’s class, too. There’s still so much left to investigate -- so much left to learn about Jaebum’s affair -- but he figures there will be time. He figures he can take a few minutes to recover, to learn how to breathe again, to crawl slowly out of shock. 

And just when he’s close to feeling normal, Jaebum swings his office door open.

“Babe!” 

Jinyoung hears the rustle of plastic bags and he hears the door close and he hears Jaebum step closer and closer but he doesn’t look up. He just shakes his head, burrows his face into his arms. 

“Babe… Babe, are you dead?” 

Jinyoung grunts and Jaebum sighs in relief. Then the rustle of plastic returns and Jinyoung feels the desk tremble as Jaebum sets things on top of it. 

“Babe, sorry I’m late. Mark told me what happened. I was just walking to go teach my class and I saw them and I waved at them. They usually ignore me, but today Youngjae flipped me off and I didn’t know why and then Mark told me you were in the office and that you had gotten  _ sick _ and that it was my fault. 

“Babe, I’m sorry I got you sick. I didn’t realize germs stayed with you even after you got better. So I thought I would get you medicine but I still had to teach my class so I just had everyone go to the store with me and tell me which medicine they used for when they got sick and these were the winners.” 

Jinyoung finally decides to look up and he finds Jaebum’s face both twisted and loose, the intersection between proud and worried. His eyebrows are furrowed as he looks over the medicine -- two types of cough syrup, three bottles of tablets, and one of gummy vitamins -- and he looks focused, as if considering his choices. Then he looks at Jinyoung, meets his eyes, and his face lights up. 

“Babe,” he says, “You look kind of sexy when you’re sick.” 

Any other day he’d smile, any day before the note but today he feels heavy and groggy and he shakes his head, then keeps shaking it gently until the thought of Jaebum with someone else falls from his head. But it remains, tangled in his hair, clinging to his scalp. It seeps into the back of his eyes so he can’t look at Jaebum without picturing Suzy’s arms around his neck, her lips at his ears. He can’t look at Jaebum’s short fingers without finding Suzy’s thin waist and the fabric of her dress from earlier. 

So he lowers his head again, and just groans. Then he remembers the lunch, the forks, and he looks up. Rather than at Jaebum, he looks past him, at the door. 

“What did you have for lunch?” he asks. 

Jaebum is quiet for a second, and he thinks, really has to. His eyebrows push together and his gaze floats to the roof and his mouth hangs open so Jinyoung can see his tongue and he can’t imagine what rattles around in his head, if anything rattles at all. Maybe he’s lying, Jinyoung thinks, but then Jaebum’s features brighten up again. He’s never seen a smile so genuine, so truthful, and Jinyoung has to look away so he doesn’t associate Suzy with that grin. 

Some things he’d like to keep to himself, even if they’ve already been shared. 

“I ate a salad, babe. It was really good -- that place you wanted to try, where they put all those weird stuff in there. I got a salad there, but then I forgot my fork. I felt really stupid, I almost drove back, but someone got a fork for me. Saved my life, babe. You’re right, I should start carrying around those little wooden utensils, but I’m always afraid a splinter’s going to get stuck in my throat and I’ll die -- do they have splinters? Babe? Babe?” 

Jinyoung has gone back to hiding his face, this time because he starts to cry. Not lightly, either. The top of his body trembles more each second until he’s sobbing into his sleeves and sniffling. Jaebum’s voice trails off until the room is quiet and only the sounds Jinyoung makes rise into the air. He tries to hold it back, tries to bite his tongue, but the feeling of losing Jaebum is overwhelming. Every ounce of control and restraint runs away from him, leaves him bare and naked to the pain. It leaves him exposed, and Jinyoung is sure that little house in his heart is coming apart. 

His ribs feel like floorboards being ripped apart, and his eyes feel like broken, leaking faucets. His fingers shiver and he imagines whole rooms shaking, he imagines the flowers wilting, frames swaying then plunging to the floor, the glass cups rolling to the edge of cabinets and sailing to shatter on the ground. 

A sound settles in his throat, something like a whine, like a croak, more felt than heard and he imagines a fire raging through the halls, swallowing up curtains in flames, painting the walls with ash. 

And when he’s sure he’s alone and lost and wading through a world he makes on his own, he hears the scrape of a chair against the floor and he feels footfalls on the carpet. Then there are hands running over his back, smoothing over his shoulders. 

Then, swimming through his madness, Jaebum’s voice. 

“Babe, it’s okay, we can go to the restaurant together. I didn’t even want to go -- we can make it a date. When you get better, babe.” 

Jaebum has hurt him, yes, but Jinyoung still finds himself chasing his touch, his comfort. He shifts in his chair so Jaebum can take him in his arms, so that he can cry into his chest. Jaebum wraps an arm around him, and with the other he holds Jinyoung’s head, holds it close against his chest, just firm enough that Jinyoung feels grounded. He no longer feels like he’s floating in empty spaces, but the pain remains, as do the tears, as do his sobs. 

“Babe, I didn’t realize you wanted to go so bad,” Jaebum whispers. Then he starts to press kisses on Jinyoung’s head, rubbing his back gently from time to time. This only makes Jinyoung cry more, and when Jaebum realizes he won’t stop, he inches closer in his chair and hooks an arm under Jinyoung’s legs. He picks him up as best as he can, picks him up so he can set him gently into his lap. 

Jinyoung folds into himself, feels small in Jaebum’s lap, feels small with his arms around him, holding him tight, whispering sweet words and leaving kisses on his head. His hand still rubs at his back, and the other combs through his hair, a light motion. 

“I’ll take you there when you get better, babe,” he says, “Just you and me, okay? I’ll even get something completely new so it’s like I never went. Do you forgive me, babe? I didn’t mean to, it just happened. They were, like, let’s go here, and I just went. Halfway through I remembered you wanted to come but I didn’t want to seem rude so we just finished up.

“Babe, I didn’t mean to, okay? I mean, I won’t lie, it  _ was  _ good, but I had you on my mind the whole time. That makes it okay, right? Right? Babe?” 

He’s talking about lunches but Jinyoung hears something else, something corporal and sinister. Still, he nods weakly into Jaebum’s chest. His tears die down, but he still feels his head throbbing, his heart pulsing. He still feels the pain that shoots up his legs, up his arms, and contracts around his heart. 

“I knew you’d understand,” Jaebum whispers, “That’s why I love you.” 

\--

“Are you sure?” 

“Positive, babe. She loves it when people are relaxed around her.” 

“I know, Jaebum, but  _ sandals _ ?” 

Jinyoung looks down at his feet, wriggles his toes. Jaebum has insisted they both dress down to meet his mom, claiming that she prefers shorts and sandals and tropical shirts because it reminds her of how far they have to travel to visit her.  

“Trust me, babe. I know my mom.” 

And Jinyoung does trust him, especially since he’s too nervous to think for himself. The thought of meeting Jaebum’s mother, the woman who birthed such a rowdy, happy man, possibly the most genuine person he’s ever met, intimidates him. The way Jaebum has described her -- kind and smiling and nature-loving -- makes Jinyoung think of a woman who wears long, loose skirts. A woman with hair running wild, a woman with flowers tucked behind her ear, bracelets on her wrists. He images that she plays an instrument, too, and that she values love above else. Of course she’ll love him, he thinks, adjusting the floral button-up Jaebum dressed him in. 

But two hours later, when they’re standing in front of a small, modest home in a town miles away from an actual city, he starts to doubt himself. 

“Are you sure this is okay? I mean, I’m dressed like a cheap tourist.”

“You’re right,” Jaebum says. He lifts his hand to his head, takes off his bucket hat, puts it on Jinyoung’s head. “Now you look perfect, babe.” 

A second later, the door swings open and Jaebum’s mom appears.

She’s a small woman with thick, round glasses. Her eyes are sharp, as is her nose, as are all her features -- Jinyoung’s shocked at how much Jaebum looks like her. Though, what surprises him the most is that she isn’t wearing a long dress or any flowers anywhere. Instead she has her hair wrapped tightly in a bun and wears no makeup. She has on a blouse, a blazer, and slacks that make her look powerful, and Jinyoung feels incredibly underdressed. 

Jaebum moves first, wraps his arms around his mother, kisses the top of her head then stretches his arm, presenting Jinyoung. 

“Mom, this is Jinyoung. We’re dating.” 

If he weren’t already blushing, he’d blush the moment her eyes fell on him. She has a sharp gaze, one that cuts right through him, that seems to carve out every front Jinyoung puts up, every defense. She seems to look right into his being so he almost chokes and stumbles. But he manages a smile, and she returns it, just as bright. 

“Well, come in, make yourselves at home. I just got home from work -- sorry I’m all dressed up.” 

Jaebum takes his hand and pulls him inside. His steps are light and giddy, but Jinyoung walks much slower. His eyes roam everywhere: across the walls are framed documents, mostly awards, some certificates. Each time he squints and reads them, Jaebum’s’ mother’s name stares back at him. 

“It’s okay, mom. How was it?” Jaebum says. Then, quieter, directed at Jinyoung, he says, “My mom’s a botanist. She’s the director of research at the university.” 

Jinyoung swallows and nods and quietly wishes he could disappear. Here is a successful woman with multiple degrees and an entire group of people working under her and he has the audacity to show up in flip-flops and a bucket hat. He pulls it off with his free hand, then hisses at Jaebum.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” 

“I said she teaches,” he says, “She’s a professor, too.” 

“But you said she likes these outfits -- Jaebum, I’m embarrassed.” 

“Don’t be,” he says, leans forward to leave a kiss on his nose, “You look perfect.” 

His cheeks turn pink again and he wonders if making him blush is a family trait. Then Jaebum pulls him towards the kitchen where Jaebum’s mother is turning on the stove and taking out a pair of pots from the cabinets. 

“I still have to make dinner,” she says, “You boys should go get washed up. Freshen up after driving for so long.” 

Jaebum nods, Jinyoung bows his head, and they both walk down the hall. Jaebum leads the way, sometimes points to a corner, or a frame, tells a quick story. But none of it compares to when he opens the door to his old room, and nothing compares to what hangs on the wall: a mixture of posters and frames and a bundle of medals hanging on a hook in the corner. There’s a Naruto poster next to a Batman poster and below is a small dresser with a collection of rocks on top of it. There’s a headless teddy bear in the corner and a boxed Goku figure on the bookshelf and a soccer ball that bounces and slides across the room when Jaebum kicks it and sits on the bed against the wall, the only plain looking thing in sight. 

“What do you think?” he asks, but Jinyoung is too distracted to answer. His eyes fall to the stack of records by his closet, another mismatched piece to the puzzle of a man that Jaebum is. He’s an endless pool of mysteries, and just one look around makes Jinyoung feel as though he’s only touched the surface, only dipped his fingers in. And when he turns to Jaebum, who now smiles, leans back in his bed and fits his hands behind his head, Jinyoung wishes he could dive right in. Wishes he could soak himself in all things Jaebum.

His heart feels light, fills with flutters as soft as the beat of butterfly wings. Just as colorful, too.

“Babe, we have to go shower,” Jaebum says, wiggling his eyebrows, “Let’s save some water and shower together.” 

Jinyoung just smiles and shakes his head. He steps closer until he can lay himself on top of Jaebum. Naturally, their bodies move to fit one another -- Jinyoung’s thigh between Jaebum’s, and Jaebum’s arms around Jinyoung’s waist. Their lips are close enough that Jinyoung feels each of Jaebum’s warm breaths over his, which sends tiny chills down his spine. He lifts a hand to rest it on Jaebum’s jaw. 

“You just want to save water?” he asks in a whisper. 

“No,” Jaebum whispers back, “I just wanted to get inside you.”  

Jinyoung snorts, shakes his head, and taps a finger to Jaebum’s lips. Jaebum parts them, bites the tip of it. 

“Can you be a little more romantic?” 

Jaebum pulls back, looks at Jinyoung, and gives him the warmest smile to date. His eyes seem to warm, too, and they look endless from this angle. Warm and endless and deep -- it reminds Jinyoung of the dark sky on summer nights. 

“Okay, babe. I want to get you all wet and soaped up and make love to you until you walk all wobbly.” 

Jinyoung’s cheek warms and he bites his lower lip, drags his gaze over Jaebum’s features. He’s handsome, especially with that cocky smirk of his, but Jinyoung doesn’t want to give in, not yet. 

“You’re lucky you’re cute,” he says and to his surprise, Jaebum shakes his head. 

“I’m not cute.” 

He gets a firm grip of Jinyoung’s hips, pulls him close before his body starts to inch towards the edge of the bed. Then Jinyoung’s back meets the wall and he lets out a breath, which Jaebum catches in a slow, warm kiss. By the time he pulls away Jinyoung feels like he’s melting. 

“I’m sexy,” Jaebum whispers and Jinyoung, to his own surprise, swoons. 

\--

“Where are we?”

“At the park, haven’t you ever heard of one?” 

Jinyoung turns off the minivan, turns to face Mark. Again, he looks annoyed, but Jinyoung can’t remember a time when he didn’t look annoyed. His face just does that, he thinks, which makes him feel less guilt about dragging him out across the city without a word of context. 

“Why the fuck are we at a park? What’s so important.” 

“Well.” Jinyoung swallows, looks forward. His fingers wrap around the steering wheel and he tightens his grip until his knuckles turn white. “If Jaebum is cheating on me, that means he’s not satisfied. So I’m trying to be a better boyfriend so maybe he’ll stop.”

“And?” 

“He likes it when I come watch him play -- he says he plays better, and he seems happier, too. He gets so excited, I can’t tell you how many times he made us stay in the car in the parking lot just fooling around -- I mean, he gets  _ excited _ .” 

He turns to Mark, who now looks properly angry. 

“What does that have to do with me?” 

“I didn’t want to come alone,” he says, but he doesn’t mention how he’s scared of finding Suzy in the audience, already watching. Mark rolls his eyes, but Jinyoung knows he’ll stay. After all, they’re miles away from any familiar street, and Jinyoung has the keys, anyway. So they leave the car, start ambling towards the lit up field at the edge of the park. 

Jinyoung walks slow and on the tips of his feet, his eyes thinned and peering into the scattered people around the field, looking for a blue dress and a matching hat. 

“Why are you walking like that?” 

“Just in case,” he says, scanning the spectators twice before breathing in relief that she isn’t there. Yet, by the time they make it to the field, he realizes Jaebum isn’t there, either. 

“So where is he?” Mark asks, already scratching at his arms, as if allergic to the grass. 

“I don’t know,” he breathes. Little by little, his heartbeat quickens, grows nervous. “He never misses a game. Ever. I even texted him asking him where he was, and he said the game.” 

Mark just shrugs and crosses his arms. Then, quietly, he says, “I told you he isn’t shit.” 

Before Jinyoung can respond, he hears someone shout his name. The air almost trembles with Jackson’s voice, and soon, Jackson himself is jogging his way, unaware of the soccer game he’s abandoning. A teammate yells at him, but Jackson just waves them off. He’s grinning by the time he’s close enough to throw his arms over Jinyoung’s shoulder, to pull him flush against him with a loud laugh. Then he presses their cheeks together and Jinyoung is horrified to know that Mark is watching. His lips flicker into a smile, and Jinyoung can almost hear all the teasing Mark and Youngjae will do tomorrow. 

“Jinyoung! I thought I would never see you again, I thought you didn’t like games,” Jackson says, quickly, as if his words were running across the field, too. Then he pulls away and gives his attention to Mark.

“And you brought a hot friend, too. What’s your name, beautiful? That’s a nice throat you got there. Nice and long.” 

Mark blushes, and Jinyoung realizes he’s never seen Mark blush -- he’s never seen him this shy, this nervous. He looks boyish, even. And, though the revelation is sweet, his thoughts still cluster around Jaebum’s absence. 

“Jackson, where’s Jaebum?” 

“Jinyoung…” Jackson looks serious and hurt and Jinyoung fears the worst, but then he says, “And here I thought you came to watch  _ me  _ play. I thought you were finally dumping that guy. I tell him all the time I’m gonna sweep you right off your feet and steal you -- look, I’ve been working out for you.” 

Then Jackson lifts his arms and poses and flexes and Jinyoung snorts, smiling. But the giddiness is short lived. The sillier Jackson acts, the more he remembers how silly Jaebum is, too. The more he remembers that Jaebum has lied to him, that he’s not at the game, nowhere close -- that he must be somewhere with Suzy. Maybe a movie date, maybe a dinner, he can’t be sure. His stomach feels heavy. 

“Where is he, Jackson?” 

“Not sure,” he answers, shrugging. Jackson, like Jaebum, is easy to read -- direct and genuine. Or, at least he thought Jaebum was easy to read. He thought he was honest, too.

He takes in a deep breath, looks to the field again. 

“He didn’t tell you where he was?” 

“No -- he hasn’t been to a game in weeks. He said he’ll let me know when he’s playing again.” 

“Thank you,” Jinyoung says before he starts to walk away, away from the field, away from the game, away from anything that reminds him of Jaebum. Mark follows, and Jackson shouts behind them, “I’ll see you next time! Bring your friend, too! We can make it a party!” 

Jinyoung doesn’t respond, but he catches Mark waving nervously at his side. Mark has to jog to catch up, and he rests a hand on Jinyoung’s arm.

“Are you okay, Jinyoung?” 

He can only shake his head because if he speaks he’s sure he’ll cry, and he doesn’t want to cry, not here, not where everyone can see him. Not where the parking lot is paved with good memories, and not in the car where Jaebum’s laughter still remains somewhere, hidden between the leather seats, shoved beneath the mats on the floor. If he’s really losing Jaebum, he’ll need these spaces, he thinks. To remember him when he’s gone, to remember the good times, the happy times. 

To remember how Jaebum shakes with energy every time he scores a goal, and to remember his smile when he loses, just a clean, bright shape without a trace of bitterness. He wants to remember how it feels to be found in the crowd by his eyes, how it feels to be important to someone like Jaebum, as warm and splendid as sunlight, and how it feels to go home with him, how it feels to hold his hand, to have it run along his side. 

So he holds it all in -- the memories, the tears. He fears that even the slightest sound might take something from him, so he evens his breaths, nods, tells Mark, “I’m okay, really. Let me drive you home.”

A second later they sit in the minivan and Jinyoung finds a rhythm in his breaths again. The minivan is still and dark, even if meters away the field still rages with life and people shouting, people laughing. Time seems to stand still for them -- Jinyoung gripping the steering wheel again, Mark quiet, staring out of the window, his legs leaning towards Jinyoung. 

Then Mark asks, “Why would he cheat on you?” 

And for a second Jinyoung isn’t sure: it could be anything. It could be his looks, it could be how boring he is, or how incompatible their taste is. It could be the fact that, for as long as he can remember, he’s always been pushing Jaebum away, not in grand gestures, but in small ways, like making sure nobody sees them holding hands in school, or having their dates be miles away from anything familiar, or even refusing to mention him to people he meets until much later. While Jaebum, recklessly, mentions him to everyone. Where Jinyoung is still embarrassed -- by dating in general -- Jaebum is proud, Jaebum is fearless. He tells everyone he knows he loves Jinyoung, tells everyone that Jinyoung is the absolute best, the smartest, the most handsome. 

_ Perfect _ , he says, or used to say. 

It could be, too, that Jaebum is the one that has to bend his will to fit Jinyoung, which makes him wonder how many times he’d made Jaebum change clothes, or how many times he refused to do what Jaebum wanted all in the name of his five-year plan, even harmless things like buying a new TV or planting a garden.

Or having a child. 

All at once, it comes back to him: Jaebum’s look of disappointment, his easy acceptance. He thought everything had been fine but Jaebum had just searched elsewhere. It isn’t about looks, it isn’t about taste, it’s only about what Suji is able to do.  

“He wants a kid,” Jinyoung whispers, looks down at his lap where the shadows gather. He tries to make shapes out of it, tries to distract himself from the way his heart squeezes, tight and sharp, then seems to sink. As if giving one last pulse, one last beat. One last breath before it comes apart. 

“Why don’t you guys adopt or something?” Mark’s voice sounds softer, and Jinyoung wonders what he’s done to deserve it. Then he notices the spots on his jeans, which makes him realize he’s crying again. 

“I told him we couldn’t,” he says, his voice broken, “I told him it was a hassle. That we’d have to wait -- I didn’t think it was this important. He never mentioned it again.” 

The rest of his words make no sense, have trouble leaving his throat. They gather there, almost choking him until a big sob pushes them all out. Mark’s hand finds his back, rubs a small circle, and something that small, something that tender from someone so cold is enough for Jinyoung to feel less alone. 

But that ache remains in his heart, locked into a room, refusing to leave. It stays and hides in the shadows, nothing more than a pair of eyes glowing in the dark. Jinyoung has never been more scared. 

\-- 

It takes Jaebum too long to come back, so long that Jinyoung decides to take the shower without him. By the time he’s done and stepping out, wrapping a towel around his hips, Jaebum is barely walking into the door. 

“Sorry,” he says, “I found my old Gameboy and got distracted.” 

“It’s okay,” Jinyoung says. He leans over the counter, combs his wet hair back and inspects his skin, “It’s your loss. Did you get my clothes from the car?” 

“Yes.” 

Jinyoung watches him step deeper into the bathroom, watches him stand behind him with a smile full of mischief. He has a small bundle of clothes in his hands that he leaves on the counter. His eyes never stray from Jinyoung. 

“I found something better, too,” Jaebum says, finally. 

Jinyoung pays him no mind, instead lets the towel drop to the floor. It gathers at his feet -- a crumpled pool of fabric -- as his fingers dig through the clothes, try to fish out some underwear. But he finds nothing except for what looks like a cup attached to a few bands. 

“What is this?” He turns to Jaebum, finally notices the look in his eyes: something glimmers in them, as if amused, as if distracted. When he talks, it sounds like he’s letting go of a breath, like he’s been holding it all this time. 

“It’s a jock strap. I found it in my room -- I guess I bought it when I was younger.” 

Jinyoung looks closer at it, stretches it with his hands, tries to figure out how someone wears it. But the more he looks at it, the more he imagines Jaebum wearing it. How much skin he’d leave exposed, and how that skin would feel against his. He swallows, turns back to Jaebum. 

“Did you bring me underwear?” 

For once, Jaebum looks nervous. His eyes widen, then he nods to the jockstrap. 

“I thought you could wear that.” 

“No -- what? Why would I wear this?” 

Jaebum licks his lips and Jinyoung stares for too long, distracted by the shape his lips make. Then Jaebum says, “Easy access?” 

“I’m not wearing this, Jaebum. Go get me underwear.” 

“Please? Just to see you in it?” And though he pleads, his voice is low, low enough that Jinyoung fills with the heat from earlier in the bed. He remembers his words, remembers his actions, so he gives the jockstrap one more look before he slips it on carefully. It still feels like he’s naked except for the front, but by the look in Jaebum’s eyes, that dark, glazed look, he figures it’s not a bad thing. 

“Now take a shower, your mother’s probably waiting.” 

Jaebum nods, but never peels his eyes away from Jinyoung. They seem to drink in the sight of him, from his legs to his middle to his shoulders, and when their eyes meet, Jaebum’s fall again. All the while, his hands undo his jeans, pull them off. He takes off his socks, his shirt, and when his underwear comes off, Jinyoung notices how hard he is. 

“You’re not going to shower with me?” 

“No,” Jinyoung says, turns back to the mirror, “I already showered.” 

And from the reflection he can see Jaebum staring at his ass, so much that he almost feels shy. Then Jaebum steps forward and places a hand on either side of Jinyoung, grips the edge of the counter. He leans in until his lips are at Jinyoung’s ear and until his cock pokes against his ass. By impulse, Jinyoung arches his back, and by impulse he pushes his hips back until Jaebum’s cock slides under his ass and he feels it where his thighs meet. Jaebum groans, and the sound fills Jinyoung’s ears -- he feels it slip inside, feels it slide down into his spine where it spreads as tiny shivers that make him aware of everything. 

The bathroom is still warm from the shower, the steam still floating around in the air and Jaebum’s cock is just as warm, as is his chest pressed against his back, bare and naked and the feel of skin against skin drives him crazy. His breaths curl around his ears, coat them with heat, and that gives him chills in his bones. And with the mirror, he can see the way Jaebum’s eyes are half-closed, the way they meet his in their reflection. Without looking away, Jaebum takes one of his hands from the counter and smooths it up Jinyoung’s stomach. They both watch his fingers make shadows in his skin and rise until his thumb brushes over Jinyoung’s nipples and they both release a breath, both bodies moving together. He feels Jaebum’s cock twitch and when he squeezes Jinyoung’s chest, he feels his own twitch and slowly harden. 

“What if your mother hears?” he hears himself say because he stops feeling like himself -- stops feeling the nerves, the anxious tremors, the rigidness of his thoughts. Jaebum brings out the brighter pieces of himself, the more basic desires, and he’s left to watch himself unravel under Jaebum’s touch. 

“She won’t,” Jaebum whispers against his ear, “We’ll be quiet.” 

Jinyoung’s eyes close and Jaebum pulls away. Then he hears rustling, a cabinet opening, a small cap being popped off. Then something warm and liquid slides down his back. It slides down his spine, slips into the crevice of his ass, runs over his rim and that’s when Jaebum’s hands are on him again -- one pulls his cheek to the side and the other slides fingers into him, the middle one first, just halfway in. Then, slowly, he pushes until his knuckle is flush against his rim and Jinyoung breathes through his mouth and Jaebum whispers, “You look so pretty.” 

His eyes open and they meet Jaebum’s in their reflection. His eyes look dark and hungry and that makes Jinyoung’s blood rush south to where his erection is throbbing inside the jockstrap and where all of his nerves are flocking to where Jaebum is pushing his finger in and out again and again and again until Jinyoung whines. Until his walls are no longer clenching, no longer hesitant, but welcoming. Until he wants more and more and he pants, “Another one.” 

Jaebum obliges, slips in a second finger, and then a third, and with the third he spreads them out and stretches Jinyoung’s walls and his back arches, his knees try to bend but they press against the counter instead. Quiet sounds fill his throat, and when Jinyoung looks for Jaebum, he finds him in the mirror, his eyes fixed to Jinyoung and his blushing cheeks and his shoulders -- slim and dusted in pink -- and the way his stomach tightens when his breathing stutters. Jaebum has started to sweat, and his hair sticks to his forehead, his chest glistens with definition and he feels his cock rubbing against the side of his leg so Jinyoung reaches down, grabs it as best as he can, starts to stroke. 

His hands are clumsy, but Jaebum doesn’t seem to mind. He groans when he runs a finger over the head, spreads the come around and plays with the slit. The fingers inside of him bend, and his entire body twitches, his hands tighten around his cock. They still, but Jaebum picks up where he left off and he starts to thrust into Jinyoung’s hand, almost fucks himself into his fingers. 

Their eyes meet in the reflection again, both their lips parted by their breathing, their heartbeats racing and that’s when they both turn to the door. That’s when Jaebum’s mother roams the hall, calls out Jaebum’s name. 

“I’m in here,” he yells back and the edges of his voice sound wrinkled, uncertain. 

“Did you see Jinyoung?” she asks, and Jinyoung panics, tries to turn around but Jaebum pins him to the counter and decides that now of all times is the best time to slip his cock inside of him. The slide is easy and wet and the fit makes Jinyoung gasp and even if he wants to wait until Jaebum’s mother isn’t at the door, he can’t deny how good it is to have him inside him, how good it is to feel so full. 

“I think he’s getting dressed,” Jaebum shouts back and has the gall to slip out just enough to slip back in, slow enough for their skin not to make too much noise, but Jinyoung still feels ass bounce. Still feels Jaebum’s hands as they grab at his ass, hard enough that Jinyoung leans forward until his forehead is pressed against the cool of the mirror and his breaths fog up the glass. He has to bite his lip when Jaebum keeps fucking him into the counter and he fights to keep quiet. 

“Well, when you see him make sure you both come down for dinner, okay?” 

“I-I will, mom!” This he yells as he goes all the way in, until his balls are flush against Jinyoung’s ass and he feels tiny sparks start to form on his lower spine. They spread, almost crackle like fireworks, and they clatter up his spine, spread in waves. He feels hazy, suddenly, but the heat of Jaebum’s cock, the press of his body against his, and the way Jaebum slams into him keeps him grounded. 

And when his mother’s voice disappears, Jaebum breathes a sigh of relief as he grabs one of Jinyoung’s thighs and props it up on the counter so that he feels even more stretched, even more exposed. This is when Jaebum picks up the pace and when his fingers twirl around the band on the jockstrap, get a good grip so he can pull Jinyoung back every time Jaebum’s thrusts forward. The result is harsher than what Jinyoung is used to and he can’t keep the sounds inside of him -- he moans as much as he whines, and he feels the sparks again, warm and cool at the same time, creeping under his skin, making him feel like he’ll burst at the seams if Jaebum keeps fucking him like he does. 

He opens his eyes and looks for Jaebum but he no longer looks into the reflection. Instead, with his jaw stretched and tense, with his eyebrows furrowed, his eyes soaked in focus, he watches Jinyoung’s ass bounce against his cock, watches himself slide in and out of Jinyoung, or so he imagines. He imagines because he can’t see anything more than Jaebum’s cheekbones gleaming with sweat and his earrings swaying as he thrusts his hips into him. He can’t see anything but his broad shoulders, the muscles of his arms tense as he pulls Jinyoung’s hips back to meet in the middle, to meet in a rough slam that clouds Jinyoung’s vision with tiny stars that freckle the edges. He can’t feel anything except Jaebum sliding into him, his walls stretching, his muscles going weak as the oil leaks quietly out of him and their thrusting starts to squelch and fill the air with wet sounds. 

Just when he thinks he’s had enough, Jaebum pulls out and he feels  _ empty. _ So much that he clenches his ass, tries to keep Jaebum inside but he tightens around nothing, and his toes curl in frustration and he sits up, opens his eyes. Jaebum is looking at him again and they stare at each other -- fall into each other’s gaze, connect without words. Then he feels the tip of Jaebum’s cock at his entrance, drawing wet circles that make him quiver, that make him press his hips back but Jaebum holds him in place again. 

Then Jaebum says, “Do you want me to come inside you?” 

Jinyoung nods, but Jaebum isn’t satisfied. 

“Say it to me, babe,” he says and Jinyoung groans. His eyes close and he lifts his other leg and tries to fit as best as he can on the counter’s small surface. 

His knees rub against the marble and he has to press his hands against the mirror and whispers, quietly, “Jaebum, I want you to come inside me.” 

He slips back inside without notice. The new angle -- Jinyoung’s legs spread more open, his entrance bared, stretched, more welcoming -- allows Jaebum to be quicker with his thrusts, to be harsher. If before he thought he’d been getting fucked, it doesn’t compare to now. It isn’t just his ass that jiggles, but he feels his entire body tremble with the force of Jaebum’s hips hammering against his and his cock brings the taste of pain. His knees start to slide on the marble and his cheek rubs against the mirror and he’s reduced to whimpers -- skin, bone, and whimpers until Jaebum grabs his hips and pulls him back to one final thrust.

Jinyoung feels the come shoot up inside of him and it makes him gasp. It spreads, warm, as if Jaebum has planted something inside of him and it grows in waves. His nerves shiver and he feels weak all over, hot and weak and he pulses at his core. 

Jaebum doesn’t pull out, not yet, but come has already started to leak and he kisses Jinyoung’s shoulder, then the back of his neck, then takes his earlobe between his teeth and says, teasing, “I guess you have to shower with me now, babe.”  

\--

That night he decides to seduce Jaebum. 

He almost trips into their room, heads to their bathroom. Once there, he pulls off all his clothes, and from the corner of their closet, where they’ve tossed clothes carelessly, things that had never found a place, he finds the jockstrap he once wore. 

If Jaebum had fallen for him once, he figures he can fall again with the right urging. With enough motivation and suggestion. 

But when he slips it on and stands in the mirror, he’s underwhelmed. 

Without Jaebum there to remind him of his beauty, or to point out the quirks in his body, the things that drive him wild -- the curve at his side, the way his hips jut out at the right angle, even the curve of his ass -- Jinyoung feels lackluster at best. He runs his hand over his stomach, slides a finger under the small mound of flesh that gathers over the band, seems to spill over. 

It’d been six months since he’d worn this for Jaebum, but somehow he feels different in it. Before he’d been racy and kinky and nothing short of tempting, but today he wonders how he’s gained so much weight, and if he’s gained it at all or has just noticed it now. It looks different without Jaebum’s hands over it, and the rest of his body is the same. 

His chest is flat, his stomach round, his hips wide. It looks fatal with slim shoulders, and the more he squints, the more he grips at his flesh and sways from side to side to see if his skin will jiggle, the more he realizes he’s entering his middle age. Without constant exercise like Jaebum, his body is left to fill the space it has to -- he has the body of his father, and his hair, too. 

And the more he looks, the more he thinks of Suzy. She must be the same age as Jaebum and Jinyoung but she looks youthful and bright. She probably doesn’t have to worry about weight, probably doesn’t worry about her skin staying clear and soft, or her hair sticking up at odd places. She probably just has to wake up and she looks perfect, and when he thinks about her stretching in bed, her pretty arms, probably wrapped in flowers, he thinks of Jaebum waking up next to her, just as handsome, just as beautiful. 

They’ll make pretty children, he thinks, and his posture slumps. His shoulders round, and he feels like a balloon that’s been pricked by a needle, that deflates steadily but surely. Maybe if he’d eaten less, maybe if he’d worked out more. Maybe if he took more care of himself Jaebum wouldn’t have felt the need to find love in another body. 

Maybe, maybe, maybe. 

Every worry he’s ever had rises, swims to the surface and Jinyoung feels each one pressing against his skin, like warm insects trying to claw their way out. He heaves a sigh, lifts his arm, waves, and to his dismay, the skin under waves, too. 

Then he groans, a deep sound, a sound of defeat. He’s lost, he realizes. He’s lost and there’s nothing to do but accept his fate. He looks at himself one last time, pinches his nipple, wonders if all this weight has made his ass bigger, at least. So he turns to the side, keeps twisting to catch a glimpse in the mirror but it’s hard so he sighs again and turns to the door. 

He finds Jaebum there, standing with his mouth open, his eyes tired but bright. 

It isn’t his presence that surprises him, but the way he’s dressed: he wears slacks and a button-up with a sweater pulled over it. His usual sweats are nowhere to be seen, and Jinyoung knows that this is the most Jaebum knows how to dress up. Before he can stop himself, he asks, almost desperately, “You’re dressed like that for a game?” 

Jaebum blinks once, then twice. He looks down and seems surprised to find himself dressed so formal. Then he shrugs, lifts his eyes back to Jinyoung. 

“I changed.” 

“Where?” 

Another shrug. “In the car.” 

“Why?” 

This time Jaebum shrugs but says nothing. A silence swings between them, like a pendulum swaying. Jinyoung opens his mouth to talk and Jaebum looks expectant and nervous. Uncomfortable. 

This is not how to keep him, Jinyoung thinks, so he smiles and Jaebum looks less scared. Then he steps forward, keeps his smile. He walks his fingers up Jaebum’s arm before he rests his hand against his neck. He leans forward to press their lips together, to kiss him and give him his last breath -- not just from his lungs, but from his heart, from his veins. Every piece of him wants him to stay, every piece of him chases him blindly, desperately. When he pulls away, Jaebum groans gently, opens his eyes. Jinyoung swears they shine. 

“Why don’t you take it off, then we can fool around a little,” Jinyoung says, “We can do whatever you like.” 

“Babe,” Jaebum says through a smile, “You’re so hot.” 

Jinyoung’s confidence returns, quickly and suddenly, stumbles into him like the crash of a cymbal. 

“But I can’t tonight. I’m exhausted.” 

The confidence leaves just as quickly, and everything Jinyoung knows slips between his fingers. Even the tile beneath his feet feels unfamiliar, even the lights, the shower curtain, Jaebum’s apologetic smile. He steps into the bathroom and Jinyoung’s heart races, not out delight but out of fear. This isn’t the Jaebum he knows, isn’t the Jaebum he loves, but Jaebum smiles again and Jinyoung realizes that it’s the same Jaebum, the only difference is that he doesn’t love  _ him  _ anymore. 

And being loved by Jaebum feels much like being in the sun -- all warmth, all light. Everything is bliss, everything is glowing and a delight and the days never end, and the night never comes. He’s never cold, never alone, and his smile is the one thing he can always count on. The world could end around them, but Jaebum would be there, smiling until the very end, the one beautiful fixture of his life. 

Yet, now that he loves someone else, Jinyoung is left to face the cold. It feels like winter has arrived, and every step digs his feet into cold, wet snow, and every breath burns his lungs, and even if he can see the sun, peeking through the clouds, it no longer warms him. It no longer shines just for him. 

He wants to cry, wants to weep, but Jaebum is undressing and Jinyoung figures he just needs some motivation. So he goes to lay on the bed, lays on his side with one leg propped up. He rests his elbow into the bed, holds his head up with a tiny fist. 

Jaebum emerges in just underwear and slides into bed next to him with a quiet groan. His eyes shut immediately, so Jinyoung is quick to act. He fits a smooth thigh between his legs, relishes the warmth of Jaebum’s skin surrounding his. He moves a hand to cup Jaebum’s groin and he moans, just quietly. But just as he starts to rub, Jaebum grabs Jinyoung’s wrist. 

“Babe, I’m too tired.” 

“If the game tired out your legs, I can just do the work, Jaebum,” he says, scooting closer. He grabs Jaebum’s hand and places it behind him, on his ass. “I can ride you.” 

“No can do, babe,” Jaebum whispers, “LIttle JB is tired, too.”

He groans again, then gives Jinyoung’s ass a good squeeze before his eyes flit shut. 

“Just stay like this, and we can fool around in the morning, okay?” 

Jinyoung debates what to do, how to proceed, but he’s left with no other option than to nod. He’s left with no other option but to accept that Jaebum has found pleasure elsewhere, that he no longer seeks him out. That their relationship is just a farce -- he wonders if Jaebum just keeps it up to not hurt his feelings. 

If only he knew how much he’s hurting now. 

Jinyoung nods again but Jaebum has already fallen asleep. There’s a slight snore in his nose, and Jinyoung gives up on charming him tonight. 

Then he hears a quiet sound, feels a gentle vibration. His hand searches behind him, carefully as not to wake Jaebum up. Soon, it finds Jaebum’s phone. Without disturbing Jaebum, he pulls it between them and the screen lights up. 

All the air in his lungs leaves him when he reads the name of the person who just texted him. 

_ Suji.  _

\--

Before dinner, Jinyoung lingers in the living room while Jaebum finishes getting ready in his room. He strays away from the framed certificates, and instead glances at the wall of framed pictures. They seem to line the entire space, from the floor to the roof, each one a different size, each one a different memory. Each one has a typed caption beneath it. 

A picture of a baby, chubby and wrapped in green, says:  _ Hwang Hyunjin _ .

A picture of a younger Jaebum wearing a straw hat, sitting on a beach with sunburnt cheeks and messy hair drinking from a coconut says:  _ Jaebum in Havana _ . 

A picture of an older man caught mid-laughter, a bit blurry but bright, almost moving says:  _ Grandpa (Picture by Jaebum). _

Then Jinyoung moves to one of Jaebum, no older than fourteen, smiling brightly with a graduation cap on. He lifts a finger to trace the frame, to rub at Jaebum’s cheeks as if he could feel them then. He looks adorable, but no different than now. That smile has survived all those years, hasn’t changed. It remains preserved, perched on thin lips, on straight teeth. 

A voice behind him says, “We’ll have to take some down.” 

Jinyoung almost jumps, but he turns around, finds Jaebum’s mother smiling in his direction. She joins him in looking at pictures and she seems just as invested as him, just as interested in all these captured lives, unfolding in stillness. 

“How come?” he asks. 

“So we can put some of you and Jaebum up here. Then more of you with the rest of the family. And then maybe more of the family you boys make.” 

Jinyoung’s eyes widen and he blushes, looks her way. She’s smiling at him, teasing, which makes him breathe easier and makes her giggle. 

“Don’t worry,” she says, “I’m just kidding. Take all the time you need, children are tough. But I do want more grandkids.” 

He just smiles, still warm with embarrassment. His attention floats back to the pictures, and it lands on one of Jaebum as a child. He wears running clothes, has a gold medal around his neck. He has his arms around two other boys -- one holds up his silver medal, the other the bronze medal. He studies it close, and Jaebum’s mother catches up to him. She reaches up to rest a finger over Jaebum’s medal. 

“I remember that,” she says, “It’s from when we used to make Jaebum compete.”

“ _ Make  _ him compete?” 

Jaebum’s mother looks pensive, even hums. Her eyes look distant, as if looking beyond the pictures, beyond the wall. As if the past were rushing back to her. 

“He was good at sports -- still is. But he just liked playing them. We tried to make him compete, but he would never be interested. He would never hold up the medals. He was always more proud of the friends he would make instead of winning. Then one day he said he didn’t want to compete -- you should have seen him. He was crying and apologizing. He thought we would be mad.”

Jinyoung looks back at the picture, the bright smile, wide and reckless. Just imagining him crying makes his heart squeeze. And it makes him think of how calm Jaebum is about everything, makes him think how little he competes. He enjoys things for what they are, for what they mean to him, rather than what they do for others. 

“He’s a good person,” Jinyoung says and Jaebum’s mother nods. 

“He has a big heart.” 

And the more he thinks about it, the more he wonders what happened. How did Jaebum and his mother turn out so differently -- even Jaebum’s sister, from what he knows, has at least two degrees. So he asks, “Did Jaebum… not like to study?” 

Jaebum’s mother doesn’t look hurt or offended, though she knows what Jinyoung means. She simply smiles, gives a tiny shrug. 

“After he said he didn’t want to compete, I was almost relieved. I knew nothing about sports, but I thought that meant I could make him go to good schools, that I could make him study. I thought he could be like  _ me _ . So I signed him up for all these study groups, and I made him take so many mock tests. I wasn’t thinking straight, then. Sometimes I would see him stay up all night studying but I wouldn’t say anything, I just wanted him to be the best.

“Then I got him a spot in a private school, the best my father and I could afford. And, well, he studied for an entire week nonstop for the entrance exam. He would eat his meals in front of books, and he would sleep for only a few hours. I thought he’d ace the test -- I thought he had my brain. But then he took the test and he wasn’t even close to passing it. God, I thought I was a failure. I thought it was my fault, that I didn’t push him enough. I just wanted him to be the best, you know? For his sake, for my sake. 

“Then he came up to me that night and apologized to me. Here was my son, apologizing for not passing a test, promising that he would do better next time.” 

She pauses, and Jinyoung looks to her. Her eyes have watered, but her lips still twist into a smile, have a fond shape. 

“I couldn’t feel more terrible. To think that he felt the need to apologize for doing his best -- God, no child should go through that. We are so cruel to children sometimes, and it takes that to open our eyes. So I stopped forcing him to be someone he wasn’t. Who cares if he didn’t study biology like his sister? Who cares if he barely passed his exams? I thought, he’s a good person with a kind heart. There’s nothing more I could ask for.” 

And, as if summoned, Jaebum’s steps fill the halls. He pauses at the edge of the living room, and his features twist into adorable confusion. 

“What are you guys doing?” 

Jinyoung smiles, blinks away the tears that form because for once he realizes that Jaebum is all  _ he  _ could ask for. He might not be bright, might be stubborn and too literal and silly when he needs to be serious, playful at every hour, might be imperfect but he’s just right for Jinyoung. All this time he’s been walking in the dark, feeling around with his hands to navigate the world -- he’s been burnt, he’s been stung -- but now he doesn’t have to search. Now he stands still as Jaebum surrounds him in light. Everything glows with love, suddenly. Everything becomes perfect, as long as he has Jaebum close. 

As long as Jaebum is his, and he is Jaebum’s. 

“Talking about you,” Jinyoung teases and Jaebum tilts his head, smiles too. His eyebrows push together, and he keeps his head cocked to the side as he walks closer and closer, close enough to take Jinyoung’s hand, to press their bodies gently together. 

“You better be telling some sick stories, mom. Did you tell Jinyoung about how I saved that bird?” 

“No,” she says, “I was telling him about your soccer days.” 

“Babe, I was so good. I was the best player -- but you know why I was so good?” 

Jinyoung stares at Jaebum, loses himself in his eyes, in his voice. In that energy that rushes out of him, like a star who has lost its way home and now roams the earth, giving off light, bright and beautiful. 

“No, how were you so good?”

“My mom taught me to play! You should have seen her, she used to take off her heels after work and kick around the ball and she wouldn’t even hold back -- she was such a good goalie, too. Had to learn tricks to beat her. So after that, other kids were a piece of cake. Did she tell you about how I learned to swim?” 

Jaebum pulls him closer and Jinyoung smiles, shaking his head. 

“You can tell him over dinner,” his mom says and they all migrate towards the dining room. Jaebum fills every room with his voice, excited and pulsing and loud and so alive that Jinyoung realizes that this is life -- that this is what living feels like. 

\--

He can only read a few of their texts before he breaks down in tears. 

_ Suji: I think it’s time you tell him _

_ Jaebum: I’ll do it next week. I’m afraid of how he’ll react _

_ Suji: You need to do it. I believe in you _

_ Jaebum: Will you be there?  _

_ Suji: Do you want me to be?  _

_ Jaebum: Please! Next Thursday. I’ll even buy you dinner after _

Then the last text, the one that has just arrived is only an “Okay” with a single heart attached. And that “okay” and that “heart” hammer into his chest, make him feel worthless and stupid and horrified that now their relationship is coming to a close. That all their love is finally being disassembled, and it hurts that Jaebum wants Suji there, that he wants a final stab at Jinyoung’s heart. 

It’s hard to keep quiet, and all his sniffling makes Jaebum stir awake. Jinyoung tosses the phone, but he can’t hide his tears. 

Jaebum is groggy, his eyes half-open, his voice deep and partly hidden in his throat. 

“Babe, babe -- you’re crying. Did you have a nightmare again?” 

Jinyoung can’t respond. He simply keeps crying, keeps wiping at his cheeks, keeps trying to keep himself steady. 

“It’s just a nightmare, babe,” Jaebum says, then wraps his arms around Jinyoung. He pulls him close, holds his head against his chest and Jinyoung feels safe, but it’s only a flicker. He keeps seeing the messages in the back of his head, and each time they seem worse, each time they sting more. His life becomes a countdown to the inevitable. 

Next Thursday, he thinks, his life will end. 

“It’s just a nightmare,” Jaebum keeps murmuring, until he’s close to sleeping again, “I’m here, you’re safe, babe. It’s just a nightmare.”

And, as Jinyoung feels Jaebum’s heartbeat against his forehead and his tears wet Jaebum’s chest and his cheeks and as everything he knows is suddenly flipped on its head, and everything familiar becomes strange and foreign, and as he feels his heart try to leap up in his throat, trying to find a better home than his clumsy chest, Jinyoung wishes it were just that. Wishes it were as simple as a nightmare. Something he could wake up from, something he could survive. 

If only it were just that.  

 


	3. the end

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this is bad alskdfj i need to get this done so i can write other things.... but i haven't written in so long so eugh yeah thank u for reading.... hope this satisfies the THEORIES.. also this is grossly unedited so ignore typos... peace

For the days that follow, Jinyoung does nothing but wonder.

When he wakes up wrapped in Jaebum’s arms and morning slips in through the window, everything lit and unlit, barely waking -- as if the light itself is just creaking open its eyes -- he wonders if this is the last time he will wake up in Jaebum’s embrace, their hearts so close and connected, beating so loudly that he’s sure they meet in the middle. 

When Jaebum stretches and his muscles harden, then go soft until he notices how late it is and he sits up with a quiet “ _ shit! _ ” and jumps to his feet, bumping into every small thing, from the tample to the lamp to the corner of the door (which he does with a yelp), dropping things around their room and the bathroom (the sound of soap tumbling around fills the air), he wonders if it’s the last time he’ll witness Jaebum emerging from a cloud of steam, wet and glorious, glistening and basked in the light from the window. 

When they bump into each other in the hallway, Jinyoung pretending to be sleepy and groggy, anything but painfully aware, and when Jaebum tells him good morning, that he loves him, that Jinyoung’s hair, sticking up in every direction, is cute, he wonders if it’s the last time his heart will beat this wildly, like drums that have broken away from the sheet music, excited by anything and everything about Jaebum. 

When Jaebum tosses him a smile as he runs across the halls of their home before leaping to the door, and when he throws him another one, this one messy and incomplete but genuine, twisted neatly on small lips, he wonders if that’s the last smile he’ll be given. 

Fearful, he starts to keep these moments. Folds them neatly like paper and slips them into the pockets of his mind. Those little grooves that slide open like drawers, that hold the dreams he’s been afraid to chase, the words he’s been too proud to say. He preserves Jaebum’s smile, his lingering scent on his clothes, the messy way his underwear litters every surface of the room, the sound of his laughter, still echoing in empty rooms, softening the shadows. He holds it all inside of him as though he were packing a suitcase. As though getting ready to leave. 

And when he’s sure something inside of him breaks, as if too stuffed, too full of want, bursting at the seams with a heat he recognizes as love, his phone lights up. A picture of Jaebum flashes on the screen: it isn’t anything personal, nothing candid, just the one Jinyoung downloaded from the school’s site. A simple shot of Jaebum smiling, a deep blue as the background. His name shows up, too, blunt and proper, without anything to signal Jaebum as his boyfriend. 

Maybe that’s why he’s drifting away, he thinks. Maybe things have to be named for them to exist. Maybe if he changed his contact name to “My Boyfriend” or “My Love” and changed his display picture to any of the countless ones they’d taken together, some holding hands, some riskier, maybe, just maybe, Jaebum would be bound to his role. Maybe he’d stay. 

“Hello,” he says, turning off the stove, “Did you forget something?” 

“ _ Yeah! It’s my brother-in-law’s birthday dinner tonight, did you want to go? _ ” 

“I can’t,” Jinyoung says, slowly draping his eggs over some rice, “I have a class.” 

Silence sits between them, and Jinyoung checks twice if the line has gone dead, but he can still make out the sound of Jaebum breathing, maybe walking. 

“ _ Okay _ ,” he says, finally, and his words have the weight of stones, hurt just as much, “ _ But don’t forget our dinner tomorrow. I’ll see you later. _ ” 

He hangs up the phone with one hand, grips the counter with the other. Of course, tomorrow, the day their relationship ends -- the final stitch of their love undone by Jaebum’s hand, at Jinyoung’s favorite restaurant to soften the blow. He can almost see the strung lights of the upstairs patio, the french bossa nova swirling around them, dancing with the sound of quiet chatter. Can almost feel his heart break already, trembling and scared.  

Tomorrow, he thinks. The world ends tomorrow. 

\--

The night he’s supposed to meet Jaebum’s grandfather is the night he sees Jaebum cry for the first time. 

Though he never sees it coming. Instead emotion builds, little by little, second by second. First Jaebum paces around his apartment, the one he lived in before they moved in together. There’s only one room, but somehow Jaebum manages to walk in and out of it enough times that Jinyoung feels uneasy, too. 

He watches from the kitchen, perched on one of three mismatched chairs. This time he takes no chances, wears a button up and nice slacks and a sports jacket, and to his surprise Jaebum doesn’t protest. Instead Jaebum wears what seems to be the equivalent: a dark bomber jacket, some dark jeans, a white shirt tucked in. 

But after half an hour of pacing, Jinyoung finally asks, “What’s wrong?” 

Jaebum stops in the middle of the hallway, half of him stuck in the shadows of the room. He stops and stares over at Jinyoung with a childish innocence. Jinyoung has never seen a worry so pure, so barren and honest on anyone’s face: his eyebrows are slightly furrowed, his eyes barely rounded. His lips are pursed, but they move slowly, adjusting themselves into a thin line. Even his breathing seems to slow, as if not wanting to make a sound, not wanting to be noticed, and Jinyoung feels bad for thinking Jaebum looks beautiful this way. That even when he suffers, he’s handsome, enigmatic. Even when hiding, he seems to attract all the light of the room. 

“What if he doesn’t like me?” 

At this, Jinyoung laughs, but Jaebum doesn’t share his joy -- instead he starts chewing on his lip.

“Why wouldn’t he like you? He’s  _ your  _ grandfather,” Jinyoung says, tries to smile, but Jaebum looks serious. He steps closer and closer until he’s in front of Jinyoung. Instead of sitting on a chair, or even on the fold-out table, he kneels in front of Jinyoung, takes his hands in his.

“I know, but what if he doesn’t like me with you? He’ll love you, and he already loves me, but what if he doesn’t love  _ us _ ?” 

And for a second he doesn’t know what to say. His lips part to speak, but instead all the air rushes out until he’s empty. Jaebum looks up at him with wide eyes, and the worry makes him look young, so young. Jinyoung's heart tightens at the sight, like a fist. This is when he starts to realize that his feelings might be more than what he’s imagined. He’s been expecting low hills to form in his heart, hills with Jaebum’s name, green and bright with affection; small, pretty things;  but when Jaebum leans forward and rests his cheek against Jinyoung’s palms, and when he sniffles like he’s fighting off tears, Jinyoung realizes they are mountains. Mountains of feeling, mountains of emotion. Higher than anything he’s seen, heavier than anything he’s felt, and when Jaebum looks up again, Jinyoung is almost overwhelmed with how lovely he is. 

“It’ll be fine,” he says, “Nothing will go wrong.” 

Yet, just a few minutes later, Jaebum gets the call. He disappears into the room, then almost runs out a second later. 

Worry has given way to panic, clear and stretched out tight over his features. His eyes are much wider this time and his lip quivers when he says, “Grandpa’s in the hospital. He fell.” 

The rest comes as a blur -- one second they’re in Jaebum’s apartment, waiting out the clock, and in the next Jinyoung is driving as fast as he can in the hospital. Instead of pacing, Jaebum shakes his leg the entire ride until Jinyoung reaches over and lets his fingers rest against his thigh. They stop moving, and for a second everything is quiet -- nobody moves, nothing stirs except for the gentle hum of the motor. Then Jaebum rests his hand over Jinyoung’s and breathes out. 

The mountains in his heart -- every single tree, every leaf, every petal, every stone -- rustle with love. 

\--

He steps inside the auditorium fifteen minutes after his class is supposed to begin, rushes down the stairs, apologizes out loud for being late, then drops his bag on the table up front. When he turns around, every seat is empty except one. 

Bambam sits in the front row, though he doesn’t look in Jinyoung’s direction. He’s too busy fixing his eyeliner with a tiny mirror propped open in front of him. 

Jinyoung looks around, steps closer. 

“Where is everyone?” 

“You cancelled class,” Bambam answers, blinking for a second before moving on to the next eye, “You sent out an e-mail a few hours ago.” 

“I didn’t cancel class,” he says, but he has to wonder. The past few days have been a daze, have been too long, too painful. It wouldn’t surprise him if he didn’t remember. He starts to pace. “Why did you show up then?” 

“Oh, I always do my makeup in this class since I have work after. So I just figured I’d do my makeup in the class, anyway.” 

Bambam shrugs and Jinyoung sighs, sits back on the table. After a second, the doors at the back fly open and Mark rushes in. Youngjae follows right behind him. 

“Jinyoung!” Mark yells, “Jinyoung, it was all my idea! Youngjae didn’t like it at first!” 

Then Youngjae yells, “True, but Mark didn’t find anybody! It was all  _ me  _ and that was the hardest part!” 

They keep arguing until they’re both standing in front of Jinyoung, both slightly out of breath. Only then does Jinyoung ask, “What’s happening?”

“Well,” Youngjae starts, but Mark cuts him off. 

“With all the things Jaebum is making you go through, we thought you should do the same to him. So I thought you should have an affair, too.”

“Yes, but I was the one who found the perfect candidate,” Youngjae chimes in, smiling, completely proud of himself, “We cancelled your class, made a reservation. You have dinner tonight. At that Italian place with the fancy pasta.” 

Mark turns, looks worried, “Are you sure you want him to go  _ there _ ? Tonight?” 

Youngjae rolls his eyes. “Just because  _ you  _ like it the most, doesn’t mean other people can’t enjoy it. And if you’re lucky, you guys can fool around and be done with it. Wonpil’s kind of lonely. He’ll probably do whatever you like.” 

It takes a minute for Jinyoung to understand what’s happening, another for him to turn red. At the third, he almost yells, “Why would you do that?! I don’t want an affair! I don’t -- why would you think that?!” 

Youngjae looks nervous, but Mark is cold and firm. 

“It’s not about what you  _ want _ , it’s about what you  _ need _ . Once you realize there’s more options out there you won’t be as sad anymore. I don’t like you feeling like you’re less than you are. You need to do this and move on.”

Jinyoung grips the edge of the table as he takes a seat again, but he doesn't let go. If he does, he knows every bit of anger, of hurt, will make his hands tremble. So he steadies himself, takes a breath, tries to ignore the way images of Jaebum settle into his head. 

“What I do,” he says, “And what I don’t do is my business. You can’t just decide for me -- I’m allowed to be sad. I’m allowed to process this however I want.” 

He sounds less angry than he’d hoped, more sad, surrendered. Maybe he does need it, he thinks. Youngjae looks disillusioned, but Mark doesn’t budge. Instead he shrugs, starts to walk away and towards the door. Youngjae follows after. 

Then, over his shoulder, he says, “We emailed you the reservations and the addresses and Wonpil’s phone number. He’s expecting you at seven. He doesn’t know it’s a date -- he thinks it’s a friendly thing. Do as you wish, Jinyoung.”

They leave and the door closes behind them. The sound echoes, both in the hall and his ears. He feels something pulse inside of him, something clumsy, something broken, but he can no longer tell his reactions apart. He feels numb, from his toes to his ears, from his hips to his heart; his senses leave him. All he sees is a dark cloud, though he hears nothing, feels nothing. When he finally returns to the room, it’s blurry behind his tears. 

When he wipes them away, he notices Bambam is still there. His eyes are wide, his lips parted open. He holds a brush in his hand, but when he looks at it, trying to avoid eye-contact with Jinyoung, he still looks shocked, as if the brush has just appeared from thin air. 

Jinyoung keeps wiping away at his eyes until he’s calm enough to ask, “So what did you hear?” 

Bambam clears his throat, slowly brings his eyes up to face Jinyoung. 

“It was hard  _ not  _ to hear every part of that.” 

“Please, uh, please don’t tell anyone.” 

“I won’t but…” Bambam trails off, pouts his lips, “Are you going on that date?” 

“Not a date, just a friendly thing,” Jinyoung mumbles, which makes Bambam roll his eyes. 

“Bullshit. You know what it is.”

“I don’t know,” Jinyoung says, surprised at how much he’s willing to share. This entire experience has changed him, and he no longer feels embarrassed to find himself in this situation. He no longer cares about what he looks like, what his image might crumble to. Some things are more important than pride, he thinks. Like health, like peace. Like Jaebum. 

“It’s a yes or no. You have two hours to decide, might as well decide now.” 

“I don’t know -- what if it feels good to get back at him? But what if that means we can’t fix it?” 

“Well, I don’t think it’s a good idea. But either way, let me get you ready.” 

“What?” 

“Even if it’s a friendly thing, you look terrible. When was the last time you slept?” 

Jinyoung shrugs, and he realizes he doesn’t know. Every night he’d flit in and out of sleep, always conscious of Jaebum breathing next to him, always scared he’d wake up to find him gone. When Bambam hands him the mirror, he can see the bags under his eyes, dark circles, how pale his skin is. 

He lets Bambam guide him to a chair, and when he tells him to close his eyes, he does as he’s told. Then he feels a sponge pressing against his cheek, around his lips, over his nose, and before he knows it, he says, “Thank you.” 

“It’s fine,” Bambam says in a voice so kind it almost hurts, “I like to practice.” 

“I just -- don’t make it too obvious, please?”

“It’s fine. I’m just highlighting what’s already there. You have nice eyebrows, a nice nose, nice lips. You’re very handsome, Mr. Park.” 

Jinyoung murmurs another thank you, feels suddenly shy as Bambam starts to put something over his eyelid. After a second or two, Bambam speaks up.

“You know it’s not your fault you got cheated on.” 

Jinyoung swallows, goes stiff. Bambam has to tap the space between his eyebrows for him to realize he’s frowning, too. He tries to relax again, tries to return to that peace he was just settling into. 

“I know,” he whispers, “Or, well, I think I know.” 

“You can’t blame yourself for what other people do.” 

“But we were dating. That means I wasn’t enough.” 

“You’re more than enough, you always will be. You’re young and handsome and successful. You’re passionate about what you do, sometimes you tell jokes that aren’t  _ completely  _ awful. And you’ve been failing less students lately, I’ve heard. I’m sure there are many people who love you, and will keep loving you. It isn’t the end.” 

“But it feels like it.” 

“It always does. But you have to take a step back and realize this is something small, or will be, at least. Pain is temporary.” 

Jinyoung just sighs, tries not to pout. “I feel stupid. I’m so old, and here you are, being reasonable.” 

“Well, I know because I got cheated on three weeks ago.” 

“Are you okay?” 

Jinyoung feels Bambam move, and though he can’t see, he’s sure he’s shrugging. 

“He was a Soundcloud rapper still in the closet. I can find another without any real problem. I just liked his friends. I don’t know who you’re seeing, but he must be special for you to be acting so weird. I never thought you had feelings for anything other than old French movies.” 

He snorts, shakes his head a little. Bambam starts to run a brush over his eyebrows and Jinyoung focuses on the short strokes. 

“I didn’t think I would. Everything happened so quick. Everything just felt meant to be. Like it was planned for us to be together, which is so cheesy -- there was only one way to move forward and it was terrifying but I gave in and risked it all. Look where it’s gotten me.” 

“What made you like them?”

“Well, so much. I think what I liked most is the world is softer with him. No matter what happens, I can always be sure I’ll smile at the end of the day. He’s silly beyond words, but he adores me -- everything about me. It’s strange, really. In his eyes, I’m perfect no matter what.” 

He drifts, for a second, to their fifteenth date, a picnic on the rooftop of Jaebum’s old apartment building. They were breaking rules, Jinyoung knew, but even if he lived to obey them, even if order was his favorite thing, Jaebum had convinced him to go along with it. It was his presence, disorderly but bright, that always woke Jinyoung up in the softest of ways, made him realize the small embers of rebellion that swirled inside him. As if, from one moment to the next, he’d become alight with a thousand little lights, intense and dazzling and completely his. 

“He also makes me happy,” Jinyoung continues, “He made me realize how happy I could be. I spent so long thinking that happy just meant not sad -- but then he came in and changed everything. I don’t know, I guess I never knew how intense life could be until I met him.” 

Bambam stops and pulls away and Jinyoung opens his eyes. Bambam’s head is cocked to the side, his eyebrows furrowed -- he looks confused. 

“Are you sure he’s cheating?” 

Jinyoung looks to his left, then his right, then shrugs. 

“I think so.” And as he says it, with Jaebum’s smile always at the back of his eyelids, he realizes it might not matter. There are bumps in relationships, and this might be more than a bump, but it’s something they can cross together. 

The solution is so simple that he’s wary, but everything has been simple with Jaebum -- why shouldn’t this? 

“Well, either way,” Bambam says, pulling out his mirror and handing it to Jinyoung, “You look great.” 

And he realizes he does look handsome once he finds his own gaze in the mirror. He can’t help but think that this is what Jaebum must see at all times, that this person, glowing and pretty and anything but dull, is what he must exude. For the first time that week, without Jaebum’s help, he feels beautiful. 

He looks up at Bambam so determined that Bambam’s smile twitches and he takes a step back. 

“I’m going to fix my relationship,” he says, “I’m going to get my happy ending.” 

\--

The hospital is small and private, and they find his grandfather’s room quickly. Jaebum barges in with little grace, and Jinyoung follows after, his stomach tight and knotted with both nerves and worry. Though he’s never met Jaebum’s grandfather, he’s heard enough of him to know how much they mean to each other -- he’d been, essentially, Jaebum’s father, and their relationship hasn’t changed much. No matter how old they both grow. 

Inside, Jaebum bombards his grandfather with questions while the older laughs. Jinyoung lingers at the edge of the room, his lips quiet and still, his hands folded together in front of him. A minute in, Jaebum’s grandfather raises a hand to stop him, then turns to Jinyoung. 

“Aren’t you going to introduce me?” 

Facing him, Jinyoung can see traces of Jaebum over his features. They have the same cheekbones, the simple shape of their eyes -- sharp and quick. They both have small lips and an easy, handsome shape to their face. Jaebum’s eyes flit between them and, somehow, he manages a smile. 

“Grandpa, this is Jinyoung -- Jinyoung, this is my grandpa.” 

Jinyoung looks away for a second before stepping closer. Jaebum’s grandfather takes his hand in both of his, gives it a pat, and Jinyoung hands over a smile, polite and sincere. The men from this family, he decides, must carry a warmth inside of them, like a small fire that burns and glows against the dark of their eyes. 

“It’s nice to meet you,” he says, steps away, and almost immediately Jaebum starts to nag his grandfather more. It’s strange to see him this way, for Jaebum to be the one that’s worried and flustered instead of himself. Then after Jaebum is satisfied with the story he’s been given -- the porch had been slippery from a quick spray of rain -- he moves on to telling his grandfather about his days. 

By then Jinyoung has claimed a seat, watches Jaebum perched at the edge of the bed, speaking rapidly, excitedly. When Jinyoung appears in his stories, he turns to face him and they exchange a smile, and when he isn’t, Jaebum still turns around for confirmation about the size of a dog, about the strength of the wind, or the height of a man. During those times, Jinyoung smiles, gives a nod, sometimes lifts his thumb and Jaebum beams, continues on with his tale. 

Then his grandfather asks Jaebum to go down to the cafeteria for him. 

“Get me some good food,” he says and Jaebum looks worried. 

“I don’t want to leave you alone.” 

“It’s fine, there’s nowhere for me to fall,” he says with a laugh, “Plus Jinyoung can keep me company.” 

Jaebum leaves quietly, but not before asking Jinyoung if he wants anything.

“Surprise me,” he says and Jaebum nods, leaves him with a smile, one that carves its way into Jinyoung’s heart and buries itself in its rhythm, warms him from inside out. Then he turns and Jaebum’s grandfather is looking in his direction. 

He looks happy, in a way, almost nostalgic. His gaze isn’t intrusive, but it still makes Jinyoung fidget in his seat as he scrambles through his thoughts to think of something to say. 

His grandfather is faster.

“So you’re the boy Jaebum’s in love with, huh?” 

Jinyoung’s cheeks warm, his scalp tingles. 

“I -- well, in love is a bit premature,” he says, no louder than it has to be. He’s afraid his voice might start to tremble, just like his fingers threaten to do. He grips his knees to keep them still, smiles to keep his composure. “Maybe later on, if it works out.” 

“No,” he says, chuckling, “I know Jaebum. He’s already gone, and he’s in deep.” 

This makes Jinyoung pause, chew on his lip. It makes him wonder, too, what can give it away -- he wonders if he’s missed something, hasn’t picked up on the clues. Maybe he’s too close to tell, maybe Jaebum is transparent to everyone but him. Still, he asks, “How do you know?” 

“It’s easier to tell since I know him. But it’s in the eyes. Always in the eyes. And you love him, too.” 

Something about his voice is soothing, enough that Jinyoung doesn’t stir, he doesn’t panic. Instead he leans forward, interested. 

“How do you know?” 

“I can feel it. You feel it, too. Love isn’t about some big feeling or emotion, you know. It’s about connection. Just pay attention,” he says, pauses to cough into his arm, “How you two interact. I’m glad he chose someone good, though.” 

“I mean, we’ve just started dating. I don’t know if this is going to last or not, I try not to think of that. I’m sure he’s loved people before, and been loved. I just…” 

Fear lines his throat, but the moment it wraps around his tongue, it melts away. He still grapples with the memory of it, with the shape and no form. He should be scared of commitment, of spending a life with Jaebum, of having his emotions bared but the room has shifted and it feels warm, comfortable. Jaebum’s grandfather seems wise, almost too wise, and Jinyoung trusts his every word. He hangs from them, as if fitting his fingers into each syllable, swinging from them like a child, and suddenly he knows how Jaebum sees the world around him, like an overgrown playground. 

“You know,” his grandfather says, “He has, and he will love other people. But nothing like this. It’s rare, you know, to see people in love before they realize it themselves. But you’ll know, someday. You’ll understand.” 

Jinyoung wants to ask more, feels like his future has been laid out on a table like a pack of cards, a future that can only be read in this moment but then Jaebum steps in through the door balancing three plates and three drinks and with plastic forks and napkins spilling from his front pocket. He steps in expertly, always aware of his body, of the space it takes up, and Jinyoung still feels breathless.

He studies Jaebum and the way his eyes move, the way his gaze scans the room. When Jaebum hands him the salad, Jinyoung notices how their eyes seem to find each other, how they fit and fall into one another as naturally as taking a breath. That even without touching they’ve somehow exchanged a caress, that they’ve handed something between them other than a bland hospital salad. 

“I ate all the raisins on the way since I know you hate them,” he says, and his eyes go wide and Jinyoung feels the gravity shift in the room. All the light orbits around Jaebum, but Jinyoung realizes that it isn’t light, and their surroundings don’t change. It’s only him, his thoughts, his feelings, swirling around Jaebum as if he were a star, and Jinyoung his twin. 

Jaebum is so aware of him it almost hurts to know that he can’t live inside of Jaebum’s gaze, that he can never swim in the color of his eyes, can never make a map out of his skin, slithering around, looking for home, only realizing he has been home all along. 

And when he says thank you, Jaebum smiles and his own lips mirror the shape. Everything they do, everything they feel, mirror each other. This is connection, he thinks, and love must be the way his body warms in waves, like an ocean stirred, woken up by a pesky moon. 

Jaebum steps away and Jinyoung looks down at his salad, realizes he needs a fork and when he looks up, Jaebum stretches his arm behind him, fork in hand, without having to look back. Jinyoung takes it and their fingers touch and every nerve in Jinyoung’s body flares and rushes to that tip, and this shifting static is so calm, so peaceful, so common that Jinyoung wonders if it can even be love. 

But maybe love doesn’t have to be new, he thinks. Maybe love isn’t about creating new memories, new passions, but of remembering old dreams, before they had a name, before they could talk. Dreams where they have no shape, where they feel no pain, where there are only two stars, spinning around each other, always waiting for the moment when they meet -- either in this body or another, in this life or the next. Something cosmic. 

Jinyoung starts to eat his salad, smiling as Jaebum speaks with his mouth full, makes his grandfather laugh, makes the room feel lighter, and makes Jinyoung wonder when he started to be so dizzy with love. 

\--

He practices two separate speeches: one for Wonpil, apologizing, a line or two about being friends, about how they’ll laugh together when they’re older; the other is for Jaebum, which is much shorter, more direct, but somehow more painful. 

But by the time he’s memorized them both, his phone has died-- he can’t cancel dinner, can’t call Jaebum. 

So he finds himself in a taxi on the way to the date. The restaurant is popular enough to be busy, but not enough to be crowded, and by the time he arrives, he’s shown to a table near the edge of the restaurant where Wonpil waits. 

He has wide, kind eyes, a soft voice, a nice smile, and ten minutes in, Jinyoung knows he can’t reject him outright -- it feels odd, like rejecting his twin. They’re both too serious, prone to long silences, prefer to listen than to speak. And even if Jinyoung’s here only to be friendly, he can’t help the heavy feeling of guilt that pools in his stomach, the way it drags him down, tells him he’s betraying Jaebum. Every bone feels as heavy as lead, and he struggles to keep his focus. 

Every second that drifts by is another second he compares this dinner to one with Jaebum. By now, Jaebum would be stealing sips of Jinyoung’s wine in betweening downing his soda. He would be asking Jinyoung how to pronounce things on the menu, would be asking his opinion on every appetizer, on every course, just to order the same thing each time -- whatever was closest to a burger and fries. 

Jinyoung would be laughing, too, though trying to hide it, always in awe with how easily he bent to Jaebum. And he would be happy, he thinks. Not for any particular reason, not because of something happening, or an exciting conversation. He would be happy to simply be, to unfasten the ropes that kept him at the bay, always stressed and wary, and to drift out into a sea of a simple existence. 

A sigh parts his lips, and he looks down at his lap, wrings his fingers. 

“Jinyoung? Jinyoung? Are you listening?” 

When he looks up, Wonpil looks bothered, not angry but disappointed. Another wash of guilt arrives, and this one tastes even more bitter -- Wonpil doesn’t deserve this either, he thinks, and everything that’s happened lately suddenly makes sense. He must be a terrible person, losing one man, tangling another one in his web. He sighs again and stands up. 

“I need to use the bathroom.” 

Even walking, he feels dazed, as if his body were here but his mind were wandering. Each step brings him closer to a choice, and when he steps inside, though he should try to borrow someone’s phone to call Youngjae, he settles for splashing his face with water at the sink. He doesn’t realize until he looks in the mirror that this is a mistake. 

His makeup runs. 

He bends over again to wash it all off, wets a paper towel to clean the rest up and that’s when he hears a child ask for one. He reaches over to grab one, turns to hand it over. That’s when he comes face to face with Hyunjin and his blood goes cold. Hyunjin blinks once, twice, his eyes so wide Jinyoung’s afraid to look at them directly. 

“Uncle Jinyoung?” 

“Hyunjin -- what are you doing here?!” 

Hyunjin laughs. “I’m going to the bathroom. Uncle Jaebum said you weren’t going to come, was it a surprise?! Dad will be so happy, he thinks you hate us.” 

“No -- I don’t hate -- what do you mean your dad?!” His blood keeps cooling and he feels nauseous. Nothing feels real, and he hopes, desperately, that nothing is real. Because if Hyunjin is here, that means outside, dining, surrounded by the family he loves, maybe even some friends, is Jaebum. 

And somewhere else in the restaurant, Jaebum’s boyfriend is having dinner with another man. 

“We’re celebrating his birthday,” Hyunjin says, looks down with a pout as he dries his hands with care -- every finger, every crevice. Once satisfied, he looks up again, holds that serious expression that he always holds. Quiet, observant, familiar in its stillness. 

“Who is out there?” 

Hyunjin blinks, then shrugs. “Everyone. Grandma’s here, too. Great grandpa,” he shrugs again, “Everyone.” 

Jinyoung bites his tongue, tries not to curse as he squats down until he’s eye-level with Hyunjin. 

“Listen, me being here is a surprise, okay? Don’t tell anybody, it’ll ruin the surprise. Can I trust you?” 

Hyunjin nods, mimics locking his lips. “I promise,” he says, and Jinyoung feels both relieved and guilty. When did he become this person, he wonders, that sneaks around, that asks people to lie for him. Hyunjin gives him a hug when he stands, then heads towards the door and Jinyoung follows him with his gaze as he heads across the restaurant. 

Jinyoung takes a breath, takes a paper towel with him and covers the right side of his face. He starts to tread back to the table, refuses to look in the direction where Jaebum must be telling another joke, or must be eating happily, and in his nervous state, he refuses to look up at all. It takes four steps to cross a table, but only a half-step to bump into the waiter and trip and almost hit his head on a chair. He lands, thankfully, next to it with a grunt, and stands up slowly, still careful to hide his face at all costs. 

And when he looks up, he sees Mark staring down at him, just as nervous, flushed, as if embarrassed. 

“Mark?!” he hisses, and Mark tries to smile, but it comes out sloppy, forced.

“Hi, Jinyoung.” 

“What the fuck are you doing here?!” 

“I - I’m on a date.” 

“A date?!” Jinyoung keeps his head lowered, his neck bent. He takes over the chair across from Mark, always checking his peripherals. 

“Yeah. You know, just a regular date.” 

“With who?!” 

As if answering, a deep voice settles around them. 

“I’m back, Mark. Miss me? Brought a friend?” 

He recognizes Jackson before he sees him, and when their eyes meet, it’s Jackson that yells, “Jinyoung?!” 

And somewhere from the other side of the restaurant, far enough that they have to yell, but close enough to recognize Jaebum’s voice, he hears, “Jackson?!” 

Jackson, still standing, stretches, waves his arms. 

“Jaebum?!” 

Jaebum yells back, “Jinyoung?!” 

Jackson, being who he is, points down to the seat next to him where Jinyoung is trying to disappear. 

“Jinyoung!” Jackson yells back. 

Much closer to them, and much quieter, Jinyoung hears Wonpil’s voice ask, “Jinyoung?” 

Then the last voice is of a child, excited, screaming, “Surprise!” 

And Jinyoung, not knowing what to do, or how to react, or how to deal with how humiliated he feels, and so alive, too, so painfully aware of himself, does the only thing he can do. 

He stands up, pushes in his chair, and runs towards the exit. 

\--

Jaebum’s grandfather’s words echo in Jinyoung’s head, sometimes rattling like small stones, sometimes ricocheting and bouncing as if they were alive. They play over and over again until Jinyoung is both enchanted and terrified, and he has no other option than to study Jaebum closely with his eyes, with his hands. 

Even when, back in the car, with Jaebum at the driver’s seat and Jinyoung trying to melt into the passenger seat, Jaebum starts to cry, Jinyoung can do nothing but study him. 

Something has shifted, something has been revealed. 

Jaebum leans over and buries his arms and head in Jinyoung’s lap and Jinyoung runs his fingers through the hair on the back of his head, threads them through the longer, growing locks. 

This is the man he loves, he thinks, excitedly like a schoolboy discovering a crush. This is his hair, this is his neck. He lets his fingers drift under the collar of the shirt to touch the start of his toned back. This is his skin, he thinks, smooth and warm and lovely. He plays with his ears, with his shoulders, and he thinks, these belong to the man he loves. 

The man he loves is crying. 

His discovery is peculiar, as if he were watching himself from another angle, from another set of eyes, but he feels it just the same. Something trembles inside him, something strains, something breaks. Something else gushes in. There are no words, no specifics, but from one second to the next, it feels like every wall he’s ever built for himself comes tumbling down. They give away with no fight, with no worry. 

This is the man he loves, he thinks again, this time with teary eyes, short of breath, with his heart racing. This is the man he loves and he’s loved right back. 

His fingers start to tremble, and a second later, they’re wet. He keeps running them through his hair, even when Jaebum stops crying, when his shoulders settle, when he tenses for a second as he sits up and looks at Jinyoung. His cheeks are wet, glisten a little even in the dim lighting of the parking lot. 

“Are you crying?” he asks and Jinyoung shrugs because he isn’t sure, and if he was, he wouldn’t be able to explain. So he sniffles, lets his body purge itself of every little doubt, every little fear. Jaebum cocks his head to the side, leans forward and their lips meet. 

Their kiss is soft, gentle, nothing more than fitting their lips together, nothing more than feeling their breaths mingle and mix and this intimacy, as quiet as it is potent, is what brings another wave of tears. This time a sound climbs his throat, matches the one in Jaebum’s. 

A minute later they’re both hugging, crying, though their reasons are unsure, so much that Jaebum pulls back, still frowning. 

“Why are we crying?” 

And Jinyoung wants to tell him what his grandfather said, that they’re crying because they’re in love, because what one feels the other does too. That crying is helping them wash their hands of their past, that crying is helping them move to the future. Jinyoung wants to tell him that the mountains in his heart, the ones that tell him how much he feels for Jaebum are not just one or three or six, wants to tell him that they’re part of an infinite landscape with deserts and forests and ponds and oceans and grasslands and that they have to explore every piece of it, have to learn every tide, every rock, every hole. He wants to say that nothing will ever be the same, but nothing will ever be boring again, or dull, that even pain will dazzle, and even sadness will comfort them. 

But all that comes out is a shrug and it makes Jaebum smile, then chuckle, then laugh, and soon after, Jinyoung is laughing, too.

And just like that, the sadness passes, frightened by the brightness in the car. What remains is the realization that something as simple as laughter is enough to heal, that life isn’t complicated as it is exciting, and that a future with Jaebum is the only future he wants. 

\--

He steps outside, pacing quickly towards the right, going anywhere but here. A few steps later and he hears Jaebum’s voice calling after him. 

“Babe! Babe!” 

Now, his pet name sounds like taunting so he keeps walking, wraps his arms around himself tight, as if he lets go he might fall apart and tumble on the sidewalk. Jaebum jogs up to him, then stands in front of him so Jinyoung has no other option than to pause, to pick up his gaze from the ground, up Jaebum’s legs, his hips, his chest, his shoulders, and, finally, his face. 

His eyes are kind, but worried. And that warmth that’s always been there remains, like nothing has changed, like nothing has happened to build a distance between them. 

“What’s up?” Jaebum asks, “I thought you couldn’t come.” 

And he remembers his speech, remembers the crucial parts, but when he tries to summon it, when the words rise up his throat like smoke, he realizes something else is coming. Tears, sobs, every piece of sadness he hasn’t allowed himself in front of Jaebum. 

He’s almost angry that all he can do is cry so he leans forward to push Jaebum away, to hurt him in some way, but all he manages to do is fall forward and into his chest and Jaebum wraps his arms around him and he knows, for now, there’s nothing he can do. 

So every word, every thought, comes out as a quiet sob, and he’s never felt something so intense, something so satisfying, as to finally release it all. He feels lighter, his head much clearer, but still he’s trapped by guilt, by shame. 

After a second, Jaebum asks, “Why are you crying?” 

Just as he’s sure he’s done crying, he starts again. This time, though, there’s some strength to it. This time he remembers his determination from earlier, the excitement at finding a solution, the dream of confronting Jaebum and fixing this entire mess -- he stands up straight, shakes Jaebum’s arms off him. He wants to be brave, wants to do more than just sit and wallow. 

He’s Jinyoung, he thinks -- he was someone before meeting Jaebum, and he still is someone, he’s still a person. Madly in love, but complete. 

“Because I love you!” he yells and Jaebum looks confused, taken aback, but he listens. He leans forward but Jinyoung holds up a finger, signals him to wait. “I love you, you dumbass, I love you too much. I love you, and you love me, and I know I’m boring sometimes, and I’m quiet and not fun but that doesn’t mean anything! You have to love the good and the bad! Just like I love you.

“And just because you aren’t satisfied, doesn’t mean you can turn around and cheat on me! And even if you did, we can work on it, we can get over it and talk about it because that’s what people who are in love do! They don’t just sneak around and sleep with other people!”

This time Jaebum’s lips hang open, his eyebrows furrow, and his head tilts to the side. 

“Cheating?”

“Don’t play dumb! With Suji! I’ve read your notes!” And this time he can’t finish, because he cries again, but this time they’re tears of relief -- relieved that everything is out in the open, that Jaebum knows what Jinyoung knows, that this might be a step towards some kind of resolution. 

And he cries, too, because he knows that he loves Jaebum, that one thing hasn’t changed -- that even if they are miles away from each other, married to other people, he will always hold love for him. He cries because imagining Jaebum with Suji no longer hurts, it almost gives him joy to think that Jaebum will be happy in some way, that he can enjoy love. 

He no longer feels jealous, no longer feels selfish. 

This is love, he thinks, wanting the best for Jaebum. And as he no longer feels the need to capture Jaebum, to hoard him from other potential romances, he feels a renewed hunger for him. He doesn’t need Jaebum to be happy, and Jaebum doesn’t need him to be happy, but he wants him. Oh, does he want him. 

And he’s about to tell him that. About to tell him that he’s willing to fight for his love, but not compete. That choices need to be made, that he is willing to bend but not break, that there is so much work to be done but it’s worth it if they can continue their lovely romance, that their days can still be full of love. That broken bones heal stronger but as he opens his mouth, he hears Wonpil call his name from the entrance of the restaurant. 

Then it’s Mark’s voice, then Jackson calls for Jaebum, and Jinyoung suddenly feels embarrassed as their steps start to grow closer. So he does something he hasn’t done since he was a child: he hides.

He lifts his hands, covers his face, and hopes that if any childhood dream can become true, that if any desire can be fulfilled, it can be his desire to be invisible. 

Quietly, he hears Jaebum say, “I wasn’t cheating, Jinyoung.” 

He doesn’t sound annoyed or angry, doesn’t sound like someone who has been lying, but Jinyoung remains still, put. 

“She was helping me, I wanted our anniversary to be special. It’s tomorrow, you know.” 

Jaebum still sounds peaceful, gentle enough that Jinyoung doesn’t feel the sting of forgetting their anniversary too harshly. It shakes him, yes, but he remains still, even as the footsteps end near them, not too far, but close enough that Jinyoung is still embarrassed. Then Hyunjin calls for them both, and in the distance he hears Jaebum’s grandfather slowly make the trek with his mother. 

He wishes to disappear, to be anywhere but there. It’s almost funny to stand here like this, no longer in childhood, not even in his twenties, but Jaebum makes him feel like a kid again. Like anything is possible, and he holds on to this feeling of youth. Its mystery, its freedom. 

“I would never cheat on you, Jinyoung,” Jaebum says, then softer, “You’re everything I have ever wanted. You’re, like, my other half. You’re everything I’m not, and I like that. Actually, I love that. I love you, Jinyoung. More than anything else, more than anyone else. You make me the happiest.” 

“I can’t give you a child,” Jinyoung says before he can stop himself. Stillness follows, and he hears Jaebum start to shift, though he doesn’t feel his touch on him. He fears Jaebum’s walking away but then he speaks again, just as soft, just as steady, like music -- Jinyoung decides that Jaebum’s words are his favorite melody. 

“I don’t love you because of what you can give me, Jinyoung. I love you because you’re you, and you make me feel so bright. Suji, she was helping me come up with the words. I couldn’t remember them all so I was going to write them on my hand tomorrow -- I wanted everything to be perfect, Jinyoung. I wanted a perfect night to start off the rest of our lives.” 

Jinyoung sniffles, feels stupid, foolish, but weightless. As if he’s floating. 

Jaebum loves him back, he thinks. Jaebum is still his. 

He feels giddy like a child, like if he were to look in a mirror he would be eleven again, and the world would be his to explore. He feels eleven and shy and timid that the king of the playground, Jaebum, is not only talking to him, but wants to play. 

“Jinyoung. Jinyoung, look at me.” 

Jinyoung is not eleven, no, but he still feels like he’s made of air, and if he’s air, then Jaebum is the wind -- they can’t exist without each other, can’t be anything but one. And he’s not eleven, and Jaebum is not asking to play with him, but he’s still lucky beyond words because when he opens his eyes, when they adjust to the lighting and the tears fall away and the world slowly unblurs, Jaebum is kneeling down in front of him. 

There, with people they love at his side, with the man he loves most pulling out a small box from his pocket, he realizes how lucky he is. 

“I’ve been carrying this around since you told me about your five-year plan and how we couldn’t change it,” he says, “I bought this after our second date. I just knew, you know. Like, I didn’t know in words, or why, but I just knew. And I don’t mind waiting, Jinyoung. I’ve waited so long to meet someone like you, and now that you’re here, there’s no such thing as waiting.”

Jaebum pops open the box, and the ring inside glimmers quietly. Jinyoung’s breath leaves him, the world goes still. 

There is no wind, there are no steps, no people beside them, no concrete beneath them. There is no sky, either, or trees on the sidewalk. There is nothing but his breathing and Jaebum’s breathing. He can make out the shine in Jaebum’s eyes and he recognizes it not as a reflection but as stars from some other life. There is only them for a beat, for that second it takes to inhale, then exhale. Then the world returns, but the feeling of love remains. Of looking into Jaebum’s eyes, of knowing exactly where they have been, where they will be. 

“I know you have your five-year plan,” Jaebum says, then, with the hint of a smile, a shape so sweet that Jinyoung suddenly tastes honey on his tongue, “But when that one ends, I want us to make one. Together, as a family.”

This isn’t how he’d imagined things would be, no. Jaebum is messy from kneeling on a dirty sidewalk, their audience are people they love, though not a complete set, mixed with strangers, all of them confused, maybe delighted. Nothing is in the right place -- upon closer inspection, Jaebum has opened the box upside down, and the ring hangs from the top, as though about to fall out. He’s not wearing anything fancy, and if Jinyoung isn’t mistaken, he’s wearing sweats, and when he thinks of himself, he thinks of how much his makeup must be running, how much he’s smeared, and that his clothes might still be wet from splashing them in the bathroom. 

Still, he thinks, this is perfect. Anything with him and Jaebum, after spending a lifetime hurting, after deciding, in the past few hours, that love should not hurt, would be perfect. As long as he can find his eyes from across the room, as long as Jaebum smiles at him like he does during meetings, across cafeterias, in their bedroom, in the mornings, after crying inside cars, or after laughing for hours, the smile when their eyes settles into each others, like shapes finding their match, like someone lost finding their home again, the smile he gives him now as they both see their futures stretching out in front of them -- rolling hills, endless oceans, easy, golden sunlight -- then Jinyoung can say, confidently, that it’s perfect. 

Then Jaebum speaks again, and Jinyoung’s heart swells with love. 

“Jinyoung,” he says, “Will you marry me?” 


End file.
